THE  WOMAN  WHO 
LOST  HIM 

and 

TALES  OF  THE  ARMY 
FRONTIER 


BY 

JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRAGKIN 

WITH  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

AMBROSE  BIERCE 


1913 

GEORGE  WHARTON  JAMES 
Pasadena,  Cal. 


95"$" 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION,  AMBROSE  BIERCE v 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT viii 

ROMANTIC  HISTORY  OF  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD 

McCRACKIN 1 

HER  RED  HAIR 45 

THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE 122 

THE  END  OF  THE  SONG 141 

DRUMS 147 

PENITENCIA 155 

DESDEMONA 180 

A  PICTURE  OF  THE  PLAINS 200 

THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER 204 

PAY  DAY  AT  THE  MINE 215 

THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM 223 

ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE 240 

CAN  DEAD  'MJ§N  TELL  NO  TALES? 266 

ON  THE  .STROKE  OF  xii . 234 

WHERE*  TJEtEY  FOtTND:KER      .     / 291 

WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME   .  .  298 


Mrs.  Josephine  Clifford  McCrackin 


269823 


INTRODUCTION 

By  Ambrose  Bierce 

To  the  few  of  us  still  living  whose  high  privilege  it  is 
to  have  familiarly  known  the  early  work  of  the  author  of 
this  book  (the  Josephine  Clifford  of  Bret  Harte's  Over 
land  Monthly)  this  later  fruitage  of  her  mind  will  ad 
dress  itself  with  a  peculiarly  tender  salutation,  as  of  a 
voice  out  of  the  twilight,  saying:  "Be  of  good  cheer — 
the  dark  is  not  yet,  and  all  is  well." 

It  is  a  long  interval,  truly,  but  not  a  barren,  for  into 
it  has  been  crowded  much  of  living  and  of  adventure — 
in  other  words,  of  thinking  and  doing,  for  thought  is  life 
and  to  do  is  to  dare ;  the  brave  alone  challenge  attention 
of  the  gods. 

Our  author's  life,  of  which  this  book  is  the  evensong 
under  the  harvest  moon,  has  been  lived  in  the  freaking 
gleams  and  brooding  glooms  that  seem  never  to  lie  along 
the  paths  of  the  ungifted — children  of  the  dread,  wisely 
content  in  their  encompassment  of  gray.  A  great  writer 
has  said  that  life  is  a  farce  to  him  who  thinks,  a  tragedy 
to  him  who  feels.  But  he  who  most  deeply  thinks  most 
keenly  feels;  so  his  are  the  high  lights  and  the  black 
shadows ;  and  however  he  move  among  them — with  pas 
sive  acceptance  or  dissenting  activity — his  life  is  more 
than  a  life :  it  is  a  career.  Its  every  feature  is  "out  of  the 
common,"  and  all  its  mutations  are  memorable. 

The  lady  of  whose  life-story  some  hint  seems  to  me, 
perhaps  fancifully,  to  whisper  in  every  passage  of  this 
book,  has  in  foregoing  volumes  related  less  indirectly  the 


strange  experiences  which  some  may  say  have  moulded 
her  character,  but  which  others  may  think,  with  a  deeper 
philosophy,  were  shaped  and  determined  by  it.  I  am  of 
those  who  attribute  to  character  the  larger  share  in  bring 
ing  about  events;  and  I  think  that  this  unique  figure  in 
life  and  letters  could  not,  under  any  constraint  of  circum 
stances,  have  had  a  career  greatly  different  from  what 
has  been.  However  this  may  be,  let  us  be  thankful  that, 
in  the  slang  of  science,  interaction  of  organism  and  en 
vironment  did  somehow,  despite  the  friction  known  as 
suffering  and  sorrow,  result  in  just  that  kind  of  woman 
living  just  that  kind  of  life,  for  to  the  essential  con- 
gruity  between  the  two  we  owe  just  this  kind  of  book. 

I  do  not  know  that  it  is  a  great  book.  I  do  not  know 
that  it  and  its  predecessors  from  the  same  pen  have  that 
incomprehensible  distinction  of  character  that  more  fre 
quently  merits  than  compels  the  transient  attention  that 
we  are  pleased  to  call  fame.  I  know  only  that  to  me 
the  books  are  the  woman  as  I  have  known  her,  and  that 
the  woman  is  most  interesting.  In  contemplation  of  that 
piquant  personality,  I  disarm ;  "submissive  to  the  deeper 
word"  of  its  suasion,  I  throw  down  the  critic's  pen  and 
yield  myself  to  the  charm  of  a  delightful  memory,  "like 
an  unresisting  child." 

Possibly  I  thereby  abjure  my  many-times-confessed 
faith  that  personal  character  and  literary  work  have 
hardly  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  each  other,  and  that 
"side-lights"  of  the  one  thrown  upon  the  other  are  noth 
ing  but  a  darkening  of  counsel.  So  be  it ;  I  am  not  great 
ly  concerned  about  consistency — not  today — and  God 
forbid  that  I  retain  always  the  power  to  see,  in  the  cold 
light  of  literary  perspicacity,  the  faults  of  my  friend. 


THE  ROMANTIC  HISTORY 

OF 

JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

BY 

GEORGE  WHARTON  JAMES 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


This  story  of  Mrs.  McCrackin's  life  is  a  reprint  from 
The  National  Magazine,  Boston,  Mass.,  and  appears  here 
by  the  kind  courtesy  of  Joe  Mitchell  Chappie,  the  Editor. 


THE    ROMANTIC    HISTORY 

OF 

JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 


By  George  Wbarton  James 


I  doubt  whether  any  other  woman  in  the  United  States 
today,  save  Josephine  Clifford  McCrackin,  can  write  in 
the  first  person  of  her  actual  experiences  of  army  life  on 
the  western  frontier  immediately  after  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War.  In  1913  she  celebrated  her  seventy-fourth 
birthday,  and  yet  she  is  active  and  doing  as  much  ardu 
ous  work  on  a  seaside  town  newspaper  as  the  busiest 
sub-reporter  on  a  metropolitan  daily. 

Her  history  in  some  cases  is  far  more  romantic  and  in 
credible  than  the  wildest  fiction.  Indeed  some  of  it  was 
published  a  few  years  ago  as  fiction,  and  though  it  did 
not  deviate  in  the  slightest  from  the  rigid  truth,  it  was 
regarded  as  too  improbable  to  be  called  good  fiction. 
She  has  had  an  interesting  life  of  association  with  Bret 
Harte,  Charles  Warren  Stoddard,  Ina  D.  Coolbrith, 
Joaquin  Miller,  Ambrose  Bierce,  Noah  Brooks,  Mark 
Twain  and  the  other  intellectual  giants  of  the  days  of  the 
old  Overland  Monthly,  when  Harte  sat  in  the  editorial 
chair  and  had  these  others  as  contributors.  Then  for  a 
while  she  lived  a  happy  pastoral  life  with  her  second  hus 
band  on  the  glorious  heights  of  the  Santa  Cruz  moun 
tains,  to  be  suddenly  rendered  homeless  by  a  forest  fire 
that  swept  the  whole  mountain  side  and  caused  great 
devastation,  loss  and  distress. 


2  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

As  a  child  she  was  a  happy,  prattling,  high-spirited 
youngster,  the  petted  child  of  a  German  of  noble  estate, 
Ernest  Wompner,  younger  son  of  an  old  patrician  family 
of  Hanover.  She  came  into  this  world  November  25, 
1838,  and  her  birthplace  was  in  the  ancient  castle,  here 
with  reproduced,  at  Petershagen  on  the  Weiser  River, 
in  Prussia.  Her  father  fought  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo, 
not  under  Blucher,  who  commanded  the  German  troops 
of  the  allied  forces,  but  directly  under  Wellington.  This 
fact  shows  us  what  pawns  we  are  on  life's  chessboard. 
In  those  days  the  king  of  England  was  also  the  king  of 
Hanover,  and  therefore  Hanoverian  soldiers  were  Eng 
lish  soldiers  at  the  mere  word  of  their  king.  Though  but 
eighteen  years  of  age,  he  was  created  a  lieutenant  on  the 
field  of  Waterloo  for  conspicuous  bravery,  and  when 
later  he  married  Josephine's  mother,  he  wore  the  scarlet 
uniform  of  the  English  army.  The  child  was  born,  there 
fore,  in  an  army  atmosphere,  and  as  a  little  one  was  often 
regaled  with  stories  of  army  life,  of  thrilling  conflicts, 
of  personal  adventures  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  used 
to  thrill  with  delight  when  a  grizzled  old  warrior  would 
come  to  the  castle  to  visit  her  father,  take  her  on  his  knee 
and  tell  her  a  story  of  some  gallant  charge,  some  forlorn 
hope,  some  brave  and  heroic  deed  which  turned  defeat 
into  victory. 

Josephine's  mother  was  a  daughter  of  the  younger 
branch  of  the  Hessian  family  of  Von  Ende  (Ende  von 
Wolf  sprung).  More  correctly  speaking,  the  title  was 
Freiherr  Von  Wolfsprung,  Count  von  Ende,  for  one  of 
her  far-off  ancestors  had  been  created  baron  by  Emperor 
Karl  the  Fourth. 

Her  mother  was  educated  with  the  view  of  becoming 
maid  of  honor  to  Princess  Maria  of  Hesse-Kassel,  and 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  3 

her  grandfather  died  while  he  was  commandant  of  the 
old  fortress  of  Ziegenhain,  after  having  been,  during 
King  Jerome's  reign,  while  Napoleon  occupied  Germany, 
commandant  at  Brunswick.  It  was  during  this  time  that 
the  rightful  prince — the  Duke  of  Brunswick  and  Ols — 
endeavored  to  regain  possession  of  the  city,  and  the 
Count  Von  Ende,  therefore,  by  the  fortunes  of  war,  was 
compelled  to  defend  his  charge  against  the  prince  to 
whom  in  his  inner  heart  he  rendered  allegiance.  Hence 
he  was  glad  to  re-enter  the  Hessian  service  when  the 
French  conqueror  was  overthrown. 

Her  nearest  blood-relation — her  cousin  Reinier — was  a 
cadet  at  the  military  school  of  Hesse-Kassel  at  the  same 
time  that  the  present  Emperor  of  Germany,  William  II, 
was  there,  and  he  was  as  recently  as  the  early  90' s  the 
commandant  of  the  capital  city  of  Berlin,  his  father 
having  been  the  minister  of  war  of  Hesse. 

I  have  been  thus  somewhat  explicit  in  detail  about 
Mrs.  McCrackin's  European  relationship  and  ancestry, 
for  they  reveal  the  heredity  that  belongs  to  her  and  the 
influences  that  environed  and  controlled  her  younger 
days.  She  was  of  noble  family  and  lived  with  nobles, 
was  taught  to  look  at  everything  from  their  aristocratic 
standpoint,  and  whatever  culture  comes  with  high  birth 
and  haughty  breeding  belongs  naturally  to  her.  All  this 
is  clearly  revealed  in  her  life  today.  She  has  no  ignoble 
views  of  things,  of  people,  of  life.  Her  survey  is  from 
an  elevated  mental  and  spiritual  plane,  and  though 
pressed  upon  by  the  weight  of  an  arduous  life,  many  cares, 
and  her  seventy-four  years,  she  yet  bears  herself  with 
the  noble  dignity  of  her  ancestors,  and  unconsciously  de 
mands  by  that  natural  pride  of  bearing,  the  respect  and 
deference  of  all  with  whom  she  comes  in  contact.  Such  is 


4  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

the  nobility  of  her  soul  that  it  is  stamped  upon  her  face 
and  exhibited  in  her  every  movement,  so  that  were  she  a 
charwoman  or  a  washerwoman  every  gentleman  would 
instinctively  raise  his  hat  to  her  in  real  honor  and  vener 
ation. 

Yet  there  is  a  strong  strain  of  sterling  democracy  in 
her  blood.  At  the  close  of  the  Napoleonic  wars  her 
father  tired  of  the  demoralizing  life  of  the  army  and  en 
tered  the  Prussian  civil  service.  He  was  made  chief  of 
the  district  surveying  corps,  and  the  castle  of  Peters- 
hagen,  then  in  partial  ruins,  as  the  result  of  the  constant 
battlings  for  its  possession,  was  assigned  to  him  as  his 
residence  and  office.  Here  with  his  large  staff  of  assist 
ants  he  retransferred  the  whole  country  from  the  French 
system  of  measurement  back  to  the  German,  and  here  in 
due  time,  Josephine,  the  subject  of  my  sketch,  was  born. 

But  the  spirit  of  discontent  was  rife  among  the  upper 
classes  of  people,  and  it  culminated  in  the  year  gold  was 
discovered  in  California  (1848)  in  the  revolution.  Jose 
phine's  father  felt  this  unrest  keenly,  so  much  so,  that 
two  years  before  the  open  revolt  he  decided  to  remove  to 
a  new  land  with  more  democratic  tendencies,  greater 
opportunities  and  possibilities.  Accordingly  he  came  to 
the  United  States,  settled  in  St.  Louis,  became  a  fully 
naturalized  citizen,  and  thus  Josephine  came  under  the 
broadening  influences  of  this  democratic  land  when  she 
was  a  child  of  eight  years. 

Here  educated  privately  and  then  in  a  convent  school, 
she  received  that  groundwork  of  knowledge  upon  which 
she  has  so  faithfully  built  in  her  later  years.  In  1854  her 
father  died ;  an  older  brother,  George,  had  left  for  Cali 
fornia  in  the  days  of  the  gold  excitement,  and  she,  her 
mother  and  sister,  were  alone.  In  due  time  Lieutenant 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  5 

James  A.  Clifford,  of  the  Third  Cavalry,  United  States 
Army,  wooed  and  won  her,  and  at  the  close  of  the  Civil 
War,  which  found  them  at  Carlisle  Barracks,  Pennsyl 
vania,  they  were  ordered  to  Fort  Union,  New  Mexico, 
there  to  meet  General  Carleton,  who  was  to  meet  the  dif 
ferent  troops  sent  there  and  assign  them  to  the  different 
forts,  camps,  and  stations  in  his  department. 

From  her  own  vivid  writings  one  can  gain  a  most  in 
teresting  series  of  pictures  of  her  journeys  over  the  wild 
and  desolate  portions  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  to  the 
appointed  rendezvous.  Reaching  Fort  Leavenworth, 
Kansas,  the  Third  Cavalry  joined  General  Sykes'  com 
mand,  and  then  started  across  the  plains.  She  says  in 
"Marching  with  a  Command" :  "Besides  the  twelve  hun 
dred  mules  in  the  wagons,  there  were  some  two  hundred 
head  extra,  and  a  number  of  horses  for  the  officers.  All 
of  these  animals  had  been  drawn  from  the  government 
corrals  at  Fort  Leavenworth.  ...  It  was  not  till  the 
second  day,  when  we  made  camp,  that  I  saw  how  large 
the  command  was ;  and  I  remember  thinking  that  it  had 
taken  since  yesterday  for  the  'tail  end'  of  the  trail  of 
wagons,  mules,  and  horses  to  leave  the  corrals  and  get 
into  camp.  .  .  .  Fancy  the  tramp  of  eight  hundred 
men,  the  keen,  light-turning  wheels  of  a  dozen  or  two 
carriages,  and  the  heavy,  crunching  weight  of  two  hun 
dred  army  wagons,  drawn  each  by  six  stout  mules !  No 
wonder  the  grass  never  grew  again  where  General  Sykes' 
commands  had  passed!" 

Before  they  went  away  from  Fort  Leavenworth,  how 
ever,  Lieutenant  Clifford  had  purchased  from  the  gov 
ernment  stables  a  beautiful  white  horse,  which  he  gave 
to  his  wife,  intending  it  to  be  for  her  own  personal  use 
when  she  reached  her  new  desert  home.  As  this  horse 


6  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

figures  largely  in  one  of  the  most  thrilling  episodes  ever 
a  woman  passed  through,  I  shall  quote  Mrs.  Clifford's 
description  of  how  it  came  to  her.  "The  door  of  our 
quarters  stood  open ;  the  captain  had  gone  out,  and  I  was 
startled  by  a  knock  on  the  doorpost.  Looking  up,  I  saw 
the  head  of  an  orderly  appearing  at  the  door ;  but,  poking 
over  his  head,  I  saw  that  of  a  horse  evidently  taking  a 
strict  inventory  of  everything  in  the  room.  Of  course,  I 
was  at  the  door,  and  on  the  horse's  neck,  in  a  very  few 
seconds,  for,  from  the  orderly  I  soon  understood  that  the 
captain  had  sent  the  horse  for  me  to  look  at.  Colonel 

L, ,  with  his  two  little  girls,  came  up  just  then,  and, 

as  we  were  all  going  in  the  same  command,  the  acquisi 
tion  of  a  horse  for  the  march  had  an  interest  for  all  par 
ties.  Together,  we  surrounded  and  admired  the  beau 
tiful  white  animal;  and  the  two  little  girls  and  myself 
were  soon  braiding  clover  blossoms  into  Toby's  tail,  and 
trimming  his  head  and  neck  with  garlands  of  buttercups 
— operations  which  did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  his 
good  humor  or  his  appetite  for  the  juicy  grass  he  was 
cropping.  The  captain,  it  seems,  had  already  tried  his 
speed  and  mettle ;  he  was  not  appraised  at  any  unreason 
able  figure,  and  so  Toby  was  mine  before  we  took  up  the 
line  of  march  for  the  plains. 

"From  the  wagon-master  I  heard  later  that  Toby  had 
been  captured  in  Texas  during  the  war.  He  had  been 
raised  and  trained  by  a  woman  who  had  followed  him 
around  the  country  for  some  time,  trying  to  get  her  pet 
back  again ;  but  Uncle  Sam,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  had 
placed  him  in  the  stables  of  the  Fitting-Out  Depot.  One 
thing  certainly  spoke  for  the  truth  of  the  story:  when 
ever  Toby  had  been  let  loose  and  refused  to  be  tied  up 
again,  he  would  always  allow  me  to  come  up  to  him, 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  7 

when  he  would  turn  and  throw  up  his  heels  at  the  ap 
proach  of  a  man." 

Captain  Clifford  rode  him  daily  as  the  march  pro 
gressed,  turning  him  loose  at  halting  times,  for  they  soon 
discovered  that  he  would  not  stray  away.  He  was  a 
cunning  thief,  however,  was  Toby,  and  Mrs.  McCrackin 
tells  several  amusing  stories  of  his  thefts,  as,  for  instance, 
on  one  occasion  when  he  stole  a  lunch-basket  deliberately 
from  the  lap  of  the  Colonel's  wife  while  she  was  pre 
occupied,  deposited  it  on  the  grass,  opened  the  lid  and 
began  to  help  himself  to  the  contents.  "Unfortunately 
for  Toby,  Mrs.  L had  spread  mustard  on  her  ham- 
sandwiches,  and  the  sneezing  and  coughing  of  the  erring 
horse  first  called  her  attention  to  her  loss." 

Another  time  after  the  major  and  his  family  had  vis 
ited  the  Cliffords  and  enjoyed  a  tea-drinking,  the  latter 
were  invited  to  repay  the  visit.  The  major's  cook  pre 
pared  a  fairly  elaborate  spread  and  had  just  stepped  out 
of  the  tent  to  call  the  family  and  guests  to  the  meal, 
when  Toby,  who  was  loose  as  usual,  "gravely  walked  up, 
swallowed  the  butter  with  one  gulp,  upset  the  sugar 
bowl,  gobbled  up  the  contents,  and  proceeded  leisurely 
to  investigate  the  inside  of  a  tin  jelly-can.  The  soldiers, 
who  had  watched  his  maneuvers  from  a  distance,  had 
been  too  much  charmed  with  the  performance  to  give 
warning  to  the  cook ;  but  when  he  made  his  appearance, 
meat-dish  and  teapot  in  hand,  they  gave  such  a  shout  as 
set  the  whole  camp  in  an  uproar,  and  Toby  was  fairly 
worshipped  by  the  soldiers  from  that  day  out." 

On  one  occasion  he  led  the  whole  of  the  mules  out  of 
the  corral,  one  of  the  herders  having  left  the  entrance 
unguarded,  and  they  having  been  accustomed  to  follow 
the  lead  of  a  white  bell  mare — Toby  himself  being  white. 


8  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

His  destination  that  time  was  his  mistress'  tent,  but  the 
way  there  was  through  the  camp.  The  rumpus  can  well 
be  imagined  when  the  soldiers  awakened  to  find  an  over 
flow  of  mules  floundering  among  their  tent  ropes  and  up 
setting  their  outfits.  They  belabored  them  with  clubs, 
ropes,  and  picket  pins,  and  this  made  the  mules  squeal 
and  bellow  to  such  an  extent  that  the  whole  camp  was 
soon  in  an  uproar,  and  the  wagon-master  in  a  towering 
rage  threatened  to  shoot  him  if  he  ever  caused  such 
trouble  again. 

But  it  was  only  a  few  days  later  when  his  mistress 
found  a  grinning  orderly  at  her  tent,  who  held  the  mules 
of  her  ambulance  and  Toby  on  a  chain  and  said:  "The 
general  sent  his  compliments,  and  said  he'd  shoot  the 
mules  and  the  white  horse,  too,  the  next  time  they  pulled 
the  tent-fly  down  over  him." 

The  story  was  too  good  to  be  kept  and  the  general  him 
self  afterwards  told  how,  "lying  asleep  on  his  cot,  under 
the  tent-fly,  where  it  was  cool,  he  had  been  waked  up  by 
Toby's  nose  brushing  his  face.  Raising  himself,  and 
hurling  one  boot  and  an  invective  at  the  horse,  he  was 
surprised  at  seeing  two  mules  trying  to  stare  him  out  of 
countenance  at  the  open  end  of  the  fly.  The  other  boot 
was  shied  at  them,  but  there  was  no  time  to  send  any 
thing  else.  The  chain  fastening  the  mules  together  had 
become  twisted  around  the  pole  holding  up  the  fly,  and 
the  precipitate  retreat  of  the  long-eared  pair  brought 
down  the  heavy  canvas  upon  the  general's  face." 

Another  time  Toby  came  to  the  tent  door  with  a 
strangely  bright  polish  on  his  fore-hoofs  and  a  suspicious 
greasiness  about  his  nose  and  face.  During  the  night  he 
had  got  to  the  baggage  wagon  belonging  to  the  officer 
in  the  next  tent — the  habit  being  to  put  the  wagons  to 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  9 

the  rear  of  each  tent  of  the  officer  to  whom  it  belonged — 
and  had  got  at  two  jars  of  butter  and  pulled  out  six  or 
eight  sacks  of  grain  with  his  teeth. 

But,  as  Mrs.  Clifford  afterwards  wrote:  "The  faith 
fulness  and  patience  of  the  horse  in  time  of  need  made 
me  forgive  him  all  these  tricks.  Months  later — when 
still  on  the  march,  in  the  most  desolate  wilderness,  in  the 
midst  of  the  pathless  mountains,  when  the  other  horses 
'gave  up  the  ghost/  and  were  shot  at  the  rate  of  a  dozen 
a  day — Toby  held  out,  carrying  me  on  his  back,  day  after 
day,  night  after  night,  till  his  knees  trembled  with  fatigue 
and  faintness,  and  he  turned  his  head  and  took  my  foot 
between  his  teeth  at  last,  to  tell  me  he  could  carry  me  no 
farther!  Not  once,  but  a  dozen  times  he  repeated  this 
maneuver ;  once,  too,  when  we  were  coming  down  a  very 
steep  hill,  he  planted  his  forefeet  down  firmly,  turned  his 
head,  and  softly  bit  the  foot  I  held  in  the  stirrup,  to  tell 
me  I  must  dismount." 

Is  there  any  wonder  that  Mrs.  McCrackin  loved  Toby 
with  an  affection  not  often  given  to  horses? 

But  there  are  many  other  fascinating  passages  in  her 
books,  descriptive  of  events  on  this  memorable  trip 
across  the  plains. 

After  her  arrival  at  Fort  Union  the  "Mounted  Rifles" 
came  marching  into  camp.  Here  is  her  vivid  picture  of 
the  scene :  "Nearer  rolled  the  dust — slowly,  slowly,  a 
snail  might  have  moved  faster,  I  thought,  than  this  regi 
ment,  famed  once  as  the  Rifles,  and  blessed  with  the  rep 
utation  of  being  very  unlike  a  snail  in  general  character. 
.  .  .  The  slow,  heavy  tramp  of  the  approaching  troops 
shook  the  earth  like  far-off  thunder ;  but  the  dust  was  so 
thick  that  it  was  hard  to  tell  where  the  soldiers  left  off 
and  the  wagons  commenced,  while  the  train  moved. 


10          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

At  last  there  came  the  sudden  clanging  of  trumpets,  so 
shrill  and  discordant  that  I  put  my  hands  up  to  my  ears, 
and  then  the  command  halted  near  our  camp. 

"Let  no  one  dream  of  a  band  of  gay  cavaliers  riding 
grandly  on  prancing  steeds,  and  with  flying  banners! 
Alas,  for  romance  and  poetry!  Gaunt,  ragged-looking 
men,  on  bony,  rough-coated  horses,  sun-burned,  dust- 
covered,  travel-worn,  man  and  beast.  Was  there  nothing 
left  of  the  old  material  of  the  dashing,  death-dealing 
Rifles?  Ah,  well!  These  men  had  seen  nothing  for  long 
weeks  but  the  red,  sun-heated  soil  of  the  Red  River  coun 
try  ;  had  drank  nothing  but  the  thick,  blood-red  water  of 
the  river ;  had  eaten  nothing  but  the  one  hard,  dry  cracker 
dealt  out  to  them  each  day,  for  they  had  been  led  wrong 
by  their  guide,  had  been  lost,  so  that  they  reached  Fort 
Union  long  after,  instead  of  long  before,  the  Fifth  In 
fantry." 

Several  times  on  this  trip  they  came  upon  mutilated 
corpses  of  civilians  and  soldiers  who  had  been  caught  un 
awares  by  the  vindictive  and  merciless  Apaches.  She 
tells  of  one  pathetic  incident  as  follows:  "Just  at  the 
foot  of  the  rough,  endless  mountain,  the  men  who  had 
come  under  the  protection  of  our  train  from  Fort  Cum- 
mings  pointed  out  where  the  two  mail-riders  coming 
from  Camp  Bayard — our  destination — had  been  am 
bushed  and  killed  by  the  Apaches  only  the  week  before. 
I  had  heard  of  these  two  men  while  at  the  Fort,  one  of 
whom,  a  young  man  hardly  twenty,  seemed  to  have  an 
unusually  large  number  of  friends  among  men  of  all 
classes  and  grades.  When  smoking  his  farewell  pipe  be 
fore  mounting  his  mule  for  the  trip  to  Camp  Bayard,  he 
said:  "Boys,  this  is  my  last  trip.  Mother  writes  that 
she  is  getting  old  and  feeble;  she  wants  me  to  come 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          11 

home;  so  I've  thrown  up  my  contract  with  Uncle  Sam, 
and  I'm  going  back  to  Booneville  just  as  straight  as  God 
will  let  me,  when  I  get  back  from  Bayard.  It's  hard 
work  and  small  pay,  anyhow — sixty  dollars  a  month,  and 
your  scalp  at  the  mercy  of  red  devils  every  time  you 
come  out.'  His  mother's  letter  was  found  in  the  boy's 
pocket  when  the  mutilated  body  was  brought  in. 

"It  was  no  idle  fancy  when  I  thought  I  could  see  the 
ground  torn  up  in  one  place  as  from  the  sudden  striking 
out  of  horses'  hoofs.  One  of  the  men  confirmed  the  idea 
that  it  was  not  far  from  the  place  where  the  body  had 
been  found.  The  mule  had  probably  taken  the  first  fright 
just  there,  where  the  rider  had  evidently  received  the 
first  arrow,  aimed  with  such  deadly  skill  that  he  fell  in 
less  than  two  minutes  after  it  struck  him." 

On  an  earlier  occasion,  after  they  had  left  Fort  Craig 
behind  them,  she  saw  ahead  what  proved  to  be  a  party  of 
soldiers.  "They  drew  up  in  line  as  they  saw  the  captain 
approaching;  perhaps  they  had  not  discovered  my  pres 
ence  in  time,  for  before  the  sergeant  could  throw  a 
blanket  over  the  cold,  stark  form  lying  on  a  pile  of  rocks 
by  the  roadside,  I  had  already  seen  the  ghastly  face  and 
mutilated  limbs  of  the  wretched  man  who  had  found  a 
cruel  death  here  only  the  day  before.  It  was  the  usual 
story  of  two  men  (civilians),  mounted,  who  were  crossing 
the  desert  together,  when,  driven  almost  crazy  with  thirst, 
they  had  attempted  to  turn  down  to  the  river  to  fill  their 
canteens,  but  were  attacked  and  chased  for  miles  by  the 
Indians;  one  man  escaped  to  Fort  Seldon,  but  the  other 
fell  into  the  red  devils'  hands,  to  be  tortured  to  death. 
The  soldiers  dug  his  grave,  wrapped  him  in  a  gray 
blanket,  and  laid  him  to  rest  on  the  silent  and  lonely 
desert.  Many  such  scenes  as  this  I  have  witnessed  since ; 


12          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

but  there,  by  the  stranger's  grave,  I  knelt  to  say  a  short 
prayer,  while  the  soldiers,  with  uncovered  heads,  threw 
the  last  earth  on  the  low  mound." 

Constantly  hampered  by  the  Indians;  sweltering  on 
the  Jornada  del  Muerto, — journey  of  death — across  the 
waterless  desert ;  floundering  in  the  slush  and  mud  of  the 
acequias,  or  irrigating  ditches  of  the  Mexicans  and  In 
dians;  once  nearly  swallowed  up,  Toby  and  rider,  in  a 
New  Mexico  morass ;  several  times  threatened  with  hor 
rible  death  as  they  slid  on  dangerous  shelves  of  roads 
hewn  out  of  the  face  of  frightful  precipices ;  once  swept 
away,  bag,  baggage,  mules  and  ambulance,  by  the  fierce 
flood  of  the  Rio  Grande ;  several  times  nearly  swallowed 
up  in  treacherous  quicksands ;  once  left  alone  on  the 
desert  owing  to  the  escape  of  their  mules ;  reduced  to 
living  upon  the  scantiest  of  canned  rations,  the  portion  of 
the  command  sent  on  to  Camp  Bayard  gladly  hailed  their 
arrival  at  the  destined  spot,  solitary  and  lonely  though  it 
was,  in  the  heart  of  the  wild  Apache  country,  and  far,  far 
away  from  the  nearest  city  of  safe  civilization. 

Let  us  see  what  kind  of  a  home  this  cultured  and  re 
fined  descendant  of  a  noble  German  family  found  in  the 
wilds  of  Arizona :  "Our  tent  looked  cozy  enough,  when 
finished  and  furnished.  A  piece  of  brilliant  red  carpeting 
was  spread  on  the  ground;  the  bedding  was  laid  on 
planks,  resting  on  trestles;  the  coverlet  was  a  red 
blanket ;  the  camp-chairs  were  covered  with  bright  cloth, 
and  the  supper,  served  on  the  lid  of  the  mess-chest, 
looked  clean  and  inviting.  The  kitchen,  just  back  of  the 
tent,  was  rather  a  primitive  institution :  a  hole  dug  into 
the  ground,  two  feet  long,  a  foot  wide,  with  two  flat,  iron 
bars  laid  over  it,  was  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  Two  or 
three  mess-pans,  a  spider,  and  a  Dutch  oven  constituted 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  13 

our  kitchen  furniture;  and  with  these  limited  means  an 
old  soldier  will  accomplish  wonders  in  the  way  of  cook 
ing.  Before  enlisting,  one  of  our  servants  had  been  a 
baker ;  the  other,  a  waiter  at  a  hotel ;  and,  between  them, 
they  managed  the  task  of  waiting  on  us  very  creditably. 
To  be  sure,  my  husband's  rank  entitled  him  to  but  one 
servant  from  the  company ;  but  then  I  was  the  only  lady 
with  the  company,  and  our  company  commander  was 
considerate  of  my  comfort/' 

And  now  began  that  phase  of  Mrs.  Clifford's  life  that 
seems  more  incredible  than  the  wildest  romance.  Lieu 
tenant  Clifford  had  killed  a  man — in  self-defense,  he 
claimed — but  the  civil  officers  of  the  state  where  the 
tragedy  had  occurred  had  vowed  to  follow  him  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  and  capture  him,  bring  him  back,  try 
him  and  finally  hang  him.  In  some  way,  either  by  chang 
ing  his  name  or  his  personality,  he  had  thrown  them 
completely  off  his  track,  was  now  an  officer  of  the  United 
States  army,  and  one  might  have  thought  perfectly  safe 
from  pursuit  and  danger.  But  in  a  sudden  mood  of  con 
fidence  he  had  told  his  young  wife  of  the  fate  that  was 
pursuing  him  and  of  what  would  surely  happen  should 
he  be  discovered.  Then,  either  his  brain  became  dis 
ordered  by  the  pressure  of  his  unseen  terror,  or  he  be 
came  possessed  of  a  devil,  for  he  suddenly  developed  a 
belief,  a  dread,  a  fear  that  his  wife  was  determined  and 
anxious  to  betray  him  and  hand  him  over  to  the  officers 
of  the  law  that  he  might  be  hanged,  and  he  began  a  series 
of  midnight  terrorizings  that  would  have  driven  any 
weak-minded  or  less  courageous  woman  insane  in  a 
week.  Is  there  any  wonder  that  she  became  nervous — 
not  nervous  in  that  she  would  scold,  or  fret,  or  worry 
and  lay  it  to  the  state  of  her  nerves;  not  that  she  was 


14          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

fidgety,  or  cross,  or  irritable.  But  she  would  grow  pale 
at  an  unexpected  knock  at  the  door,  or  flush  painfully  red 
if  she  heard  a  quick  footstep  behind  her  for  years  after. 
Friends  have  told  me  that  they  have  seen  her  grasp  the 
banister  for  support,  if,  looking  down  the  stairs  into  the 
hallway,  she  discovered  a  form  not  familiar  to  her  eye; 
and  at  night  she  has  begged  earnestly  of  her  women 
friends  that  they  would  let  her  sleep  in  a  room  directly 
and  openly  adjoining  theirs,  so  that  they  could  rouse  her 
quickly  when  her  cries  for  help  told  she  was  living  her 
awful  experiences  over  again  in  her  dreams. 

Later,  in  one  of  her  stories  that  was  regarded  as 
romance,  she  told  the  strictest  truth  as  follows:  "They 
tell  me  that  Silver  City  has  been  established  within  ten 
miles  of  the  very  spot  that  once  looked  so  hopelessly 
deathlike  and  so  deserted  to  me  in  my  despair.  For  I 
was  in  despair.  Beautiful  as  was  the  country,  pleasant 
as  seemed  my  surroundings,  in  spite  of  the  devotion 
shown  me  by  the  soldiers  who  composed  the  garrison, 
the  respect  and  attention  of  the  officers,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  the  undivided  affection  of  my  white  horse,  Toby, 
I  was  not  only  in  despair — that  is  too  mild  a  term — I 
was  living,  day  and  night,  in  sunlight  or  darkness,  in  a 
state  of  terror,  fear,  and  suspense,  such  as  cannot  be 
described.  In  the  midst  of  apparent  safety  and  protec 
tion,  death  stared  me  constantly  in  the  face — not  the 
swift,  sudden  death  that  the  Indian's  arrow  or  the  ball 
of  an  assassin  grants,  but  the  slow  tortures  with  which 
the  cunning  of  the  maniac  puts  its  victim  to  the  rack ;  for 
my  husband  was  a  madman  and  a  murderer,  and  I  was 
given,  helpless  and  without  defense,  into  his  hands.  I 
think  the  discovery  must  have  paralyzed  me,  for  I  can 
not  now  explain  to  myself  the  dazed,  unresisting  state  in 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN  15 

which  I  remained  for  months  after  I  knew  the  whole 
truth.  Partly,  perhaps,  the  consciousness  that  I  was 
thousands  of  miles  away  from  where  help  could  reach 
me  from  my  own  people,  the  natural  reluctance  of  a  wife 
to  disclose  her  misery  and  wretchedness  to  strangers, 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  power  which  to  a  certain  de 
gree  my  husband  possessed,  at  least,  over  his  immediate 
subordinates — all  these  considerations,  a  mixture  of  fear 
and  pride,  held  me  in  thrall  for  long,  long  days. 

"I  would  tie  a  strip  of  flannel  around  my  throat  and 
complain  of  a  bad  cold,  in  order  to  hide  the  marks  that 
his  fingers  had  left,  where  he  had  strangled  me  just  one 
degree  short  of  suffocation.  With  what  feeling  of  grati 
tude  I  used  to  step  to  the  tent  door  in  the  morning— 
when  my  liege  lord  gave  permission — to  take  one  more 
look  at  the  sky  above  me,  after  a  night  passed  waking,  in 
momentary  expectation  of  a  blow  from  a  hatchet  he  had 
concealed  about  the  tent  during  the  day,  or  with  the 
silent  horror  of  the  situation  growing  on  me  till  I  was 
ready  to  shriek  out,  'Be  merciful !  Kill  me  at  one  blow, 
or  pull  the  trigger  the  next  time  you  hold  the  death- 
cold  muzzle  of  your  pistol  to  my  head' — ior  you  must 
know  it  was  a  favorite  way  he  had  of  amusing  himself. 
He  would  hold  the  revolver  pressed  close  against  my 
temple  and  let  that  horrid  'click,  click'  sound  in  my  ear 
till  I  was  fairly  numb  with  terror.  Then  he  would  ex 
plain  to  me  in  a  low  voice  how  utterly  impossible  it 
would  be  for  any  help  to  reach  me  in  time  if  I  screamed 
for  help ;  would  dilate  upon  the  numerous  strings  and 
loops  he  himself  had  added  to  the  fastenings  of  the  tent, 
and  would  describe  how  he  could  cut  me  into  small  bits 
and  roast  the  bits  in  the  fire,  before  being  discovered, 
if  I  ever  so  much  as  dared  to  breathe  what  passed  in 


16          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

those  quiet,  peaceful-looking  quarters  of  ours.  For  our 
tent  had  really  a  cheerful  home-look  about  it.  Strictly 
speaking,  there  were  two  tents  set  up  close  together  in 
one,  and  the  soldiers,  in  their  solicitude  for  my  comfort, 
had  built  a  wall  some  four  feet  high  about  it,  and  the 
canvas  had  been  partly  removed  at  either  end  to  make 
room  for  a  fireplace  they  had  built  of  mud  and  stones, 
the  chimney  reaching  high  above  the  tent.  So  that  in 
reality  we  had  two  rooms,  a  fireplace  in  each;  and  alto 
gether  our  quarters  were  looked  upon  as  exceedingly 
fine  and  comfortable,  exciting  surprise  and  envy  in  the 
minds  of  the  few  stray  visitors  that  passed  through  the 
camp.  That  these  visitors  were  few  and  far  between  was 
a  great  blessing,  as  I  soon  found,  for  after  my  husband 
had  once  admitted  to  me  that  he  was  a  murderer  and  had 
fled  from  justice,  he  was  seized  with  an  insane  idea, 
whenever  an  arrival  was  announced  in  camp,  that  the 
officers  of  the  law  had  tracked  him  here  from  Texas, 
where  the  crime  had  been  committed  years  ago,  and  that 
I  had  communicated  to  them  where  he  could  be  found. 
He  had  cut  a  round  opening  in  the  top  of  the  tent  and 
through  the  fly — as  if  the  space  had  been  intended  for  the 
passage  of  a  stove-pipe — and  from  this  point  of  observa 
tion  he  could  see  the  dust  flying  up  in  the  road  when 
anyone  approached  the  camp.  Then  he  would  make  a 
spring  at  me — as  a  tiger  springs  upon  his  prey — grasp 
my  throat  with  both  his  murderous  hands,  and  urge  me 
to  confess  for  whom  I  had  sent,  and  by  whom  I  had  sent 
this  message,  swearing  direst  vengeance  on  all  concerned 
did  he  but  discover  them.  If,  however,  the  orderly  came 
to  the  door  the  next  moment  to  announce  that  Mr.  So- 
and-so,  or  Such-a-one  had  arrived  and  desired  to  see  the 
lieutenant,  this  gentleman  was  all  good  nature  and  con- 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  17 

descension,  sending  an  immediate  invitation  to  the  vis 
itor  to  come  to  our  tent,  or  going  in  person  to  meet  him. 
I  had  to  smooth  my  ruffled  feathers  as  best  I  could,  for  I 
knew  that  the  least  failure  to  appear  happy  and  cheerful 
in  the  presence  of  the  guest  would  be  rigorously  punished 
as  soon  as  the  stranger's  back  was  turned. 

"You  must  remember  there  was  nothing  in  the  coun 
try  then  save  military  posts  at  long  intervals  and  a  very 
few  poverty-stricken  Mexican  towns  and  settlements, 
separated  by  hundreds  of  miles  of  waterless  sand  deserts 
and  barren  rocks,  with  Indians  of  different  tribes,  but 
all  alike  hostile,  sprinkled  over  the  whole  ad  libitum. 
A.nd  yet  I  was  often  on  the  point  of  braving  all  those 
horrors  to  escape  the  terrors  of  my  captivity  and  torture. 
Often  when  Toby  came  whinnying  around  our  quarters, 
I  was  sorely  tempted  to  cut  the  fastenings  of  the  tent 
and  make  a  bold  dash  for  liberty  or  death ;  for  you  must 
understand  that  during  the  lieutenant's  absence  from  the 
tent  I  was  never  permitted  to  go  to  the  entrance  under 
any  excuse.  I  might  have  taken  an  opportunity  of  that 
kind  to  appeal  for  help,  or  send  word  of  my  wretched 
condition  to  the  commanding  officer  by  a  passing  soldier 
— don't  you  see?  And  this  he  was  determined  to  pre 
vent.  Poor  Toby,  never  corraled  or  hobbled  as  other 
horses  were,  would  clatter  around  the  tent  for  hours, 
pawing  the  ground,  tugging  at  the  ropes,  and  scratching 
at  the  entrance;  but  never  till  the  lieutenant  made  his 
appearance  was  I  permitted  to  give  him  the  lump  of 
sugar  or  other  tidbit  I  had  ready  for  him.  Day  by  day 
my  life  grew  more  intolerable,  and  I  don't  know  how 
toon  it  might  have  been  ended,  either  by  that  man's 
hand  or  my  own,  had  he  not  finally  bethought  him  of  a 
way  in  which  I  could  perhaps  benefit  him.  He  had  been 


18          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

placed  under  arrest  for  some  trifling  neglect  of  duty 
soon  after  we  reached  camp,  and  though  this  might  have 
been  all  the  more  pleasant  under  ordinary  circumstances 
as  giving  him  more  time  to  pursue  his  own  pleasure,  he 
began  to  chafe  under  this  inactivity,  and  at  last  con 
cluded  that  it  was  a  deep,  underhanded  plot  of  his  su 
perior  officers  to  injure  and  annoy  him.  If  the  concep 
tion  of  this  idea  strongly  suggested  one  of  the  common 
fancies  of  the  insane,  the  remedy  he  concluded  to  adopt 
certainly  afforded  proof  conclusive  that  his  brain  was 
turned.  As,  however,  I  saw  in  it  a  possible  means  of 
escape,  I  grasped  at  it  as  a  drowning  man  grasps  at  a 
straw.  His  plan  was  this:  I  was  to  apply  to  the  com 
manding  officer  for  an  ambulance  and  escort  as  far  as 
Santa  Fe,  and  there  I  was  to  lay  his  grievances  person 
ally  before  General  Carleton,  and  ask  at  his  hands  re 
dress  and  protection  for  my  husband.  Redress  and  pro 
tection  for  him!  The  bitter  irony  and  humor  of  the 
thing  was  not  lost  upon  me  even  in  the  abject  state  of 
mind  I  was  then  in ;  but  I  took  good  care  to  allow  no  trace 
of  my  real  feelings  to  appear  upon  my  face.  The  purpose 
was  quickly  carried  out.  Next  day  the  orderly  bore  a 
note  from  me  to  the  captain,  written,  I  need  hardly  say, 
under  the  eyes  of  my  tormentor;  and  in  a  little  while 
after,  a  polite  note  from  him  assured  me  that  my  train 
would  be  ready  at  the  hour  mentioned  the  following 
morning.  Very  gladly  had  this  kind-hearted  man  con 
sented  to  my  request,  for,  as  I  learned  later,  something 
of  the  true  condition  of  affairs  at  our  quarters  had  be 
come  known  to  him  through  our  orderly  and  the  cook, 
and  the  captain  felt  but  too  happy  to  grant  me  safe  es 
cort  on  my  way  back  to  my  friends,  which  he  thought 
I  was  now  taking.  Women,  however,  are  the  most  fool- 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          19 

ish,  unaccountable,  soft-hearted  idiots  in  creation.  The 
night  preceding  my  departure  was  spent  in  great  part 
by  the  lieutenant  on  his  knees,  imploring  my  forgive 
ness,  vowing  reform,  and  explaining  how  it  was  only  his 
great  love  for  me  that  had  made  him  at  times  a  little 
tyrannical." 

Yet  when  she  begged  her  husband  to  allow  her  to  take 
her  horse  Toby,  he  positively  refused,  and  the  captain 
confirmed  his  refusal,  stating  that  the  danger  from  In 
dians  would  be  enhanced  if  she  attempted  to  ride  horse 
back  through  so  dangerous  a  country. 

"Toby,  poor  fellow,  had  been  confined  in  the  corral, 
and  his  whinnies  grew  first  rebellious  and  then  heart 
breaking,  as  dragging  at  his  chain  and  wildly  pawing 
the  ground,  he  saw  the  train  moving  out  and  leaving 
him  behind.  My  heart  smote  me  at  the  horse's  cries, 
if  it  was  only  a  horse;  but  the  lieutenant  had  got  into 
the  ambulance  with  me,  to  go  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the 
post,  and  was  giving  me  his  parting  instructions  and 
making  his  parting  promises  of  repentance  and  reform, 
and  I  did  not  even  dare  to  express  my  grief  at  leaving 
my  dear,  devoted  friend.  Pinkow,  the  orderly,  for  whom 
the  lieutenant  had  obtained  the  captain's  permission  to 
accompany  me  all  the  way  to  Santa  Fe  and  back,  sat 
beside  the  driver  of  the  ambulance,  as  I  said,  while  the 
lieutenant  and  I  sat  in  the  seat  behind. 

"Hardly  had  the  lieutenant  left  the  ambulance  and 
vanished  from  sight  \vhen  Pinkow  turned  in  his  seat  and 
faced  me  with  an  eager,  questioning  look  in  his  eyes.  I 
was  startled  by  the  man's  sudden  movement  and  asked 
him  in  some  alarm,  'What  is  it,  Pinkow?' 

"'Thank  God!'  he  cried,  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief, 
'You  are  free,  madam.  I  have  counted  the  moments 


20          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

since  the  lieutenant  came  into  the  ambulance  with  you, 
dreading  that  he  would  change  his  mind  at  the  last  min 
ute  and  drag  you  you  back  to  that  horrid  tent  to  murder 
you  at  his  leisure/ 

"  'Why— Pinkow,'  I  protested,  'the  lieutenant—' 

"  ' — is  my  commanding  officer  and  has  detailed  me  to 
wait  on  you,  with  secret  instructions  to  bring  you  back 
from  Santa  Fe,  dead  or  alive.  Alive  if  possible;  dead, 
should  you  refuse  to  return  to  the  prison  he 
has  prepared  for  you.  Do  you  think,  madam,  that  be 
cause  your  silent,  uncomplaining  endurance  of  the  lieu 
tenant's  tyranny  was  ignored  by  the  captain  and  the 
other  officers,  it  is  not  known  at  headquarters?  And  in 
the  company  there  is  not  a  man  who  has  forgotten  your 
courage  and  kindness  on  the  long  march  out  here.  All 
these  men  here  will  go  into  Santa  Fe  with  you  if  you  but 
say  the  word;  and  once  under  the  general's  protection, 
the  lieutenant  can  never  more  approach  or  harm  you. 
The  captain,  though  not  advised  of  your  intention,  feels 
convinced  that  you  will  never  return  to  our  camp  or  the 
lieutenant  again.  I  have  his  orders  to  see  that  every 
thing  you  may  need  on  your  journeying,  whether  under 
taken  with  a  military  escort  or  on  the  overland  stage, 
be  furnished  you,  though,  indeed,  the  general  himself 
will  see  to  that,  and  the  captain  also  thinks  that  some  of 
the  other  officers'  wives  are  at  Fort  Marcy  (Santa  Fe)  at 
present/ 

"  'But,  Pinkow/  I  remonstrated  tremblingly,  'I  prom 
ised  to  come  back;  he  will  come  after  me  if  I  break  my 
promise;  I  know  he  will,  and  will  kill  me,  wherever  he 
finds  me/ 

"  'Do  you  suppose  the  captain  will  give  him  permission 
to  leave  camp  and  follow  you?  Not  while  he  thinks  you 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          21 

will  seize  upon  this  opportunity  to  make  your  escape. 
He  is  under  the  firm  impression  that  you  are  anxious 
to  get  out  of  that  madman's  clutches,  and  would  be  sur 
prised  if  he  heard  that  you  had  conscientious  scruples 
about  breaking  your  word  with  him.  Do  you  know/  he 
continued  in  a  lowered  voice,  'that  he  is  a  condemned 
criminal,  that  he  escaped  the  gallows  only  by  flight,  and 
lives  in  hourly  dread  of  being  recognized  and  handed 
over  to  the  civil  authorities  by  his  brother  officers?  And 
to  such  a  man's  power  you  would  return  ?' 

"  'It  will  break  his  heart  if  I  go  and  leave  him  in  his 
trouble,'  I  cried,  thinking  of  his  parting  appeals  and 
promises.  'He  is  not  bad,  Pinkow;  he  was  young  and 
hot-headed  when  that  man  in  Texas  enraged  him,  and 
he  shot  him  in  a  fit  of  passion.  It  has  been  kept  secret  so 
long;  why  raise  up  that  dread  ghost  now?  And  think 
of  Toby;  I  should  never  see  Toby  again,  and  you  heard 
how  he  cried.  I  must  go  back,  Pinkow;  oh,  I  must  go 
back!'  And  I  burst  into  tears." 

Is  it  possible  for  words  to  tell  the  horror  of  that  drive? 
Not  only  did  she  have  the  desert  to  cross,  but  there  was 
the  constant  terror  that  her  husband  would  surely  es 
cape,  follow,  torture  and  ultimately  murder  her.  "A 
scorching  sun  above,  a  barren  waste  beneath ;  a  chain  of 
dull  brown  mountains  on  the  right,  a  ridge  of  low  hills 
far  to  the  left.  Thus  the  road  winds,  drearily,  silently, 
changelessly  along.  Hour  after  hour  you  gaze  upon  this 
blank,  vast  monotone,  never  daring  to  hope  that  one 
bright  spot  may  greet  the  eye,  but  dreading  ever  that  the 
brooding  stillness  of  the  heavy  air  be  rent  in  sudden 
horror  by  the  Indian's  savage  cry.  Oh,  the  long,  slow 
hours  that  dragged  their  leaden  wings  across  this  waste ! 
To  me,  there  were  twin  demons  lurking  in  every  isolated 


22          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

clump  of  lance-weed  that  we  passed.  Where  the  men 
looked  for  only  one  enemy,  I  feared  two — the  Indian's 
painted  visage  was  not  more  dreaded  by  me  than  the 
diabolical  smile  I  had  seen  on  that  madman's  face.  And 
I  could  not  shake  off  the  feeling  that  he  was  pursuing 
me —  that  he  was  even  now  on  the  road  I  had  just  passed 
over." 

Day  after  day  the  dread  of  pursuit  grew  more  intense 
and  vivid.  One  morning  when  they  were  delayed  by  a 
broken  wheel,  she  cried  out  to  her  orderly:  "Pinkow, 
we  must  go  on.  All  last  night  I  dreamed  of  the  lieuten 
ant;  he  had  overtaken  us,  and  everywhere  around  me 
was  blood — blood.  I  am  going  on ;  if  there  is  no  ambu 
lance  to  be  had,  they  can  give  me  a  horse,  or  I  will  ride 
one  of  the  ambulance  mules.  Somehow,  I  feel  that  the 
lieutenant  knows  by  this  time  that  I  mean  to  escape,  and 
if  he  catches  up  with  us  now  he  will  kill  me  sure." 

On,  on,  the  frantic  woman  urged  her  escort.  Her 
nerves  racked  with  the  torture  to  which  she  had  been  so 
long  subjected,  she  was  now  under  the  fearful  pressure 
of  appalling  dread,  of  intolerable  terror.  She  felt  the 
unspeakable  horror  of  pursuit.  She  knew  her  husband 
was  following  her,  and  just  the  very  day  after  she  had 
crossed  the  Rio  Grande,  as  the  ambulance  was  about  to 
start,  her  direst  fears  were  justified  by  an  exclamation 
which  came  from  Pinkow.  Turning  her  eyes  in  the  di 
rection  they  all  pointed  she  saw  a  horseman,  the  sight  of 
whom  seemed  to  turn  her  heart  to  stone. 

"  'The  lieutenant !'  said  Pinkow  faintly,  and  involun 
tarily  Sergeant  McBeth  urged  his  horse  closer  up  to  my 
ambulance. 

"I  did  not  faint,  but  there  was  a  blank  of  several  min- 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          23 

utes  in  my  memory,  and  then  I  heard  a  hissing  whisper 
close  to  my  ear. 

"'So  you  tried  to  get  away  from  me,  did  you?  But 
you  see  I  have  overtaken  you,  and  alive  you  will  never 
get  away  from  me  again.  Don't  scream  or  call  on  those 
men  for  help — I  have  two  revolvers  with  me.  I  would 
kill  them  all,  and  then  tie  you  to  Toby's  tail  and  let  him 
drag  you  to  death.  Do  you  hear  me?' 

"There  must  have  been  something  deathlike  in  my 
wide-open  eyes,  for  he  bent  over  me  with  sudden  appre 
hension  ;  but  I  had  heard  him.  Every  word  of  his  had 
burned  itself  into  my  brain  as  with  a  searing-iron.  The 
words  are  there  to  this  day — the  Lord  help  me — and  I 
answered,  hardly  above  a  breath : 

"'I  hear  you!' 

"Not  that  I  wanted  to  whisper  or  speak  in  a  low  tone. 
I  could  not  have  spoken  a  loud  word  if  my  life  had  de 
pended  on  it,  as  perhaps  it  might. 

"  'Come  back  into  the  house  with  me,'  he  said  in  a 
louder  tone :  'I  am  hungry  and  tired ;  neither  Toby  nor 
I  have  had  rest  or  food  since  leaving  camp,  except  what 
we  could  get  at  a  Mexican  ranch  back  here.  I  knew  that 
they  would  keep  me  back  at  the  posts,  in  order  to  give 
you  a  good  start.'  He  lowered  his  voice  again,  and  his 
strong  yellow  teeth  gleamed  viciously  behind  his  drawn 
lips.  His  hollow  eyes  were  burning  with  the  fire  of 
madness,  and  strands  of  long,  uncut  hair  were  hanging 
wildly  about  his  face.  He  laid  his  talon-like  hand  on  my 
arm. 

"  'Come,'  he  continued  aloud,  'we  shall  not  be  able  to 
go  from  here  today;  the  ambulance  will  need  an  over 
hauling.  Come  into  the  house  with  me!' 


24          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"  'Never !'  I  said,  speaking  low,  and  trying  to  speak 
firmly.  'Kill  me  right  here,  if  you  want  to — I  shall  not 
go  into  the  house  with  you/ 

"  'Then  you  insist  upon  bloodshed  and  open  disgrace.' 
He  spoke  close  to  my  ear  again.  'Remember  that  I 
promised  to  reform,  and  that  you  promised  to  be  patient 
with  me  and  aid  me.  Is  this  what  your  promise  is  worth? 
You  want  to  deliver  me  into  the  hands  of  my  enemies — 
to  see  me  wronged  and  murdered.  Come  with  me  and 
I  will  forgive  you/ 

"He  to  forgive  me !" 

"  'But  refuse  and  I  will  kill  you  and  the  rest  here  on 
the  spot/ 

"And  he  raised  me  from  my  reclining  posture  and 
lifted  me  from  the  ambulance  to  the  ground. 

"Pinkow  stood  by,  pale  and  motionless  with  suspense, 
but  Sergeant  McBeth  had  dismounted  and  stepped  up 
to  me. 

"  'Madam/  he  said,  touching  his  cap,  'the  damage  to 
the  ambulance  can  be  repaired  in  half  an  hour's  time; 
you  need  not  even  alight,  for  we  shall  not  take  the  mules 
out  at  all/ 

"  'Have  the  mules  taken  out,  Sergeant/  the  lieutenant 
interposed  sharply,  'and  let  your  men  dismount.  My 
wife  will  not  continue  her  journey  today/ 

"  'My  instructions  are  to  obey  madam's  orders,  and  I 
see  none  of  my  superior  officers  here  who  could  counter 
mand  the  order.  As  soon  as  madam  signifies  her  wishes, 
I  shall  hold  my  men  in  readiness  to  carry  out  her  com 
mands/ 

"Every  man  of  the  escort  had  dismounted,  and  they 
stood  clustered  about  me  as  if  ready  and  eager  to  carry 
out  any  order  I  might  give.  I  saw  an  appealing  look  in 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  25 

Pinkow's  eye,  and  noted  the  gleam  of  hate  and  fury  that 
flashed  on  him  from  the  lieutenant's  bloodshot  orbs, 
while  with  a  quick  movement  he  threw  back  the  old  sol 
dier  overcoat  he  had  on  and  displayed  the  shoulder- 
straps  on  the  cavalry  jacket  he  wore  under  it.  But  even 
now  the  gallant  sergeant  would  not  submit. 

"  'Your  orders,  madam?'  he  asked,  with  eager  eyes  and 
glowing  cheeks. 

"  'I  have  none  to  give,  sergeant,'  I  replied  sadly,  'ex 
cept  that  you  take  the  best  care  of  the  outfit  in  your  com 
mand.  I  thank  you  and  your  men  for  their  attention 
and  obedience,  and  I  want  them  all  to  have  a  rest  after 
their  long  journey/ 

"  'Stand  aside,  sergeant/  the  lieutenant  said  harshly, 
'I  will  now  take  charge  of  the  command,  and  herewith 
relieve  you  of  all  further  responsibility.  You  will  con 
sider  yourself  under  orders  to  me/ 

"He  gave  me  his  arm  and  led  me  back  into  the  court 
yard,  where,  somehow,  the  escort  had  collected,  and 
again  I  was  reminded  of  a  military  funeral  as  I  passed 
through  the  file  of  sober-faced,  heavily  armed  men. 

"Entering  the  low  door  which  I  had  left  but  an  hour 
ago  forever,  as  I  thought,  I  turned  my  head  wistfully 
back,  and  there,  at  the  foot  of  the  courtyard,  near  the 
gate,  stood  Sergeant  McBeth,  the  wind  blowing  about 
the  folds  of  his  short  soldier's  cape,  his  hand  resting  on 
the  hilt  of  his  cavalry  sabre,  and  his  eyes  following  me 
with  a  questioning,  pitying  look.  Sergeant  Brown  stood 
gravely  holding  the  door  open  for  us,  offering  the  lieu 
tenant  a  military  salute;  but  I  vainly  sought  Pinkow 
with  a  last,  despairing  look. 

"Suddenly  his  voice  came,  rough  and  broken,  from  the 
open  gate  of  the  courtyard. 


26          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"  'Madam/  he  cried  in  evident  distress,  'Madam — oh ! 
it  is  too  late.  Toby  is  here,  but — ' 

"Toby!  True,  had  I  not  seen  him  totter  under  the 
lieutenant's  cruel  spurring  when  he  was  urging  him  up 
to  the  ambulance  a  while  ago?  Swiftly  and  with  sudden 
strength  I  snatched  my  hand  out  of  the  lieutenant's 
encircling  fingers  and  was  flying  back  across  the  yard 
and  outside,  where  I  saw  Pinkow  leaning,  sobbing 
against  Toby's  neck.  The  animal  was  trembling  in 
every  limb,  but  when  he  spied  me  a  low  whinny  struck 
my  ear,  and  he  moved  forward  a  step  to  reach  my  side. 
I  rushed  toward  him,  but  before  I  could  reach  him  he 
had  tottered  and  fallen  at  my  very  feet,  with  a  deep,  al 
most  human  groan. 

"I  cried  out  with  grief  and  knelt  by  his  side,  stroking 
his  white,  silky  mane  and  trying  to  bed  his  shapely  head 
in  my  lap.  But  his  eyes  broke  even  while  I  was  caress 
ing  him,  and  I  bent  over  the  faithful,  long-suffering 
animal,  and  my  tears  fell  hot  and  fast — tears  as  honest 
and  sincere  as  any  I  ever  shed  for  a  human  being. 

".  .  .  I  cannot  remember  for  the  life  of  me  how  I 
got  back  to  Sergeant  Brown's  adobe  house.  The  first 
thing  I  remember  was  the  lieutenant's  haggard  face 
bending  over  me,  and  most  unexpectedly  his  protesta 
tions  of  affection,  repentance  and  reform  were  as  pro 
fuse  as  they  had  been  on  the  night  preceding  my  depart 
ure  from  Fort  Bayard.  He  needed  my  sympathy,  he 
said,  and  my  aid,  for  we  must  now  proceed  to  Santa  Fe ; 
it  was  almost  a  matter  of  life  and  death  with  him,  an 
officer  under  arrest,  to  escape  from  camp  and  venture 
directly  into  the  lion's  den — the  commanding  general's 
headquarters." 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  27 

On  his  arrival,  however,  at  Santa  Fe,  the  presence  of 
his  wife  availed  him  nothing.  The  general  ordered  him 
under  arrest  at  once,  and  commanded  him  to  return  to 
Fort  Bayard,  there  to  await  trial.  Friends  sought  to  in 
tervene  between  the  crafty  madman  and  his  yielding 
wife,  in  whom  a  variety  of  conflicting  and  strange  emo 
tions  were  contending.  To  her  dismay  she  found  herself 
at  last  in  the  ambulance  returning  to  Fort  Bayard  in  the 
company  of  the  mentally  disordered  wretch  who  still 
claimed  her  obedience  and  fealty  as  a  wife.  That  return 
journey  was  enough  to  have  killed  her.  A  pet  dog  that 
had  been  allowed  to  ride  in  the  ambulance  part  of  the 
way  was  cruelly  thrown  out,  and,  when  in  a  state  of  in 
decision  it  made  as  if  it  would  return  to  Santa  Fe,  the 
lieutenant  called  a  halt,  whistled  to  the  dog,  and  after 
beating  his  brains  out  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver, 
shouted  in  mad  fury :  "I'll  teach  you  to  try  and  get  away 
from  me,"  and  pointing  to  the  quivering  body  of  the  poor 
brute,  he  called  to  his  wife,  "That's  the  way  I  serve  all 
runaways." 

At  all  the  posts  on  their  return  those  who  had  hoped 
the  wife  was  escaping  from  her  husband  when  she  went 
north  alone,  were  puzzled  at  her  apparent  abject  subjec 
tion  to  her  husband,  and  as  she  says  of  the  commander 
at  Fort  Bayard:  "Perhaps  he  was  the  most  puzzled  of 
all.  All  circumstances  considered,  it  was  only  proper 
that  he  should  not  call  to  greet  me  on  our  arrival,  but 
he  immediately  sent  his  servant  to  me  with  supper  and 
compliments.  My  husband  had  reported  to  him  at  once, 
had  been  ordered  not  to  leave  his  quarters  without  spe 
cial  permission,  and  late  at  night  the  captain  sent  an 
orderly  to  demand  his  side-arms.  The  lieutenant  was 


28  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

furious,  but  I  knew  what  it  meant,  though  the  future 
proved  that  all  the  captain's  efforts  to  ensure  safety  to 
me  were  futile." 

For  a  few  days  he  seemed  cowed,  then  unfortunately 
one  of  his  men  was  persuaded  to  obtain  him  a  two-gallon 
keg  of  whiskey  from  Pinos  Altos.  This  naturally  added 
fuel  to  the  fire  of  hate  and  rage  that  were  consuming  the 
madman's  bosom,  and  he  vented  it  all  upon  his  long-suf 
fering  but  proud-hearted  wife.  Though  his  side-arms 
had  been  removed,  the  lieutenant  had  no  difficulty  in 
gaining  access  to  the  tool-chest  of  the  company-carpen 
ter,  and  his  wife  soon  learned  that  a  hatchet  was  as  for 
midable  a  weapon  in  the  hands  of  a  madman  as  a  pistol 
or  revolver. 

When  the  court-martial  convened  the  excitement  of 
the  lieutenant  increased,  and  his  threats  and  actual  vio 
lence  to  his  wife  grew  more  intolerable.  "I  knew,"  said 
she,  "that  the  sitting  of  the  court-martial  would  be  as 
much,  and  more,  of  a  trial  for  me  than  for  him,  for  at 
the  very  worst  his  judges  could  not  and  would  not  take 
his  life,  while  the  preservation  of  mine  would  be  highly 
problematical." 

One  day  one  of  the  officers  discovered  a  slight  error 
in  the  proceedings,  which  uncorrected  would  have  given 
the  lieutenant  a  loophole  of  escape  had  the  verdict  gone 
against  him.  He  called  attention  to  the  fact,  and  that 
night  his  poor  wife  was  made  to  bear  the  burden  of  his 
anger,  his  spite  and  his  bitter  hatred  against  the  man 
who  had  circumvented  him. 

Another  day  he  returned  home  earlier  than  usual  from 
the  trial,  closed  the  tent  and  drew  a  hatchet  from  under 
the  mattress.  He  commanded  his  wife  to  kneel  down 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN  29 

and  hold  her  hands,  for  he  was  "going  to  cut  her  head 
open."  As  she  did  so — for  she  knew  it  was  useless  to 
resist,  and  that  if  she  cried  out  he  would  murder  her 
before  help  could  come — he  spanned  her  throat  with  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  held  the  hatchet  above  her. 
Fortunately  something  distracted  his  attention,  and 
soon  he  stumbled  upon  the  whiskey  which  his  wife  had 
hid,  and,  taking  a  tumbler  full  of  it,  was  speedily  lulled 
to  sleep.  But  as  he  stretched  himself  out  on  his  bed,  he 
bid  her  lie  where  he  could  touch  her  with  his  hand,  lest 
she  should  open  the  tent  during  his  sleep  and  let  the 
soldiers  in  to  murder  him. 

Though  anguished  almost  to  the  breaking  point,  mer 
ciful  Nature  came  to  the  tortured  woman's  aid,  and  at 
length  she  herself  fell  asleep.  Can  anyone  conceive  her 
situation  when  she  was  awakened  as  follows.  Here  are 
her  own  words : 

"What  woke  me  up  I  never  knew,  but  as  I  opened  my 
eyes  they  fell  directly  on  the  sharp  edge  of  the  hatchet, 
and  the  maniac  face  of  my  husband  grinning  fiendishly 
behind  it.  In  a  moment  it  flashed  on  me  that  he  was 
taking  deliberate  aim  so  as  to  kill  me  at  the  first  blow, 
fearing,  doubtless,  that  in  my  death  agony  I  should 
scream  for  help  if  the  blow  were  not  planted  full  in  my 
brain.  Before  I  could  move  my  head,  his  other  hand 
was  grasping  my  throat  and  pressing  my  head  back  on 
the  pillow ;  but  the  struggle,  faint  as  it  had  been,  changed 
the  position  of  the  weapon  in  his  hand.  Then  I  saw  that 
not  only  was  he  trying  to  get  in  the  most  telling  blow, 
but  he  was  also  calculating  the  exact  position  in  which 
the  shadow  was  thrown  on  the  roof  and  the  wall  of  the 
tent.  He  had  evidently  replenished  the  fire,  as  the  night 


30          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

was  cool,  to  convince  Pinkow  and  the  guard  that  serenity 
and  harmony  prevailed  in  our  tent ;  and  the  glitter  of  the 
drunken  fiend's  eye  was  hardly  less  cruel  than  the  glint 
of  the  cold  steel  of  the  hatchet.  I  raised  my  hand  im 
ploringly  and  tried  to  speak. 

"  'Not  a  word  out  of  you/  he  hissed  into  my  ear  with 
an  oath.  'I  can  cut  you  into  little  pieces  before  the  guard 
can  get  into  the  tent,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it.  So  much 
you  get  for  asking  for  a  guard  to  protect  you.  Then  I 
am  going  to  roast  you  alive  for  telling  the  judge-advo 
cate  all  about  me.' 

"And  he  pressed  my  head  back,  and  again  took  aim. 
Presently  he  laughed,  shifted  his  position  and  declared 
he  didn't  want  my  brains  spattered  all  over  his  hands, 
like  the  dog's,  and  putting  his  heavy  hand  on  my  fore 
head,  he  brought  the  hatchet  within  an  inch  of  my  throat, 
making  the  motion  of  drawing  it  across  and  across. 

"  'Steady,'  I  heard  him  mutter,  'steady.' 

"Whether  he  meant  this  admonition  for  himself  or 
for  me,  I  never  knew,  but  after  a  moment's  balancing  he 
rolled  over,  the  hatchet  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand  on 
my  breast,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  slept  the  heavy, 
sottish  sleep  of  the  drunkard.  Hardly  daring  to  breathe, 
I  lay  with  my  eyes  wide  open,  praying  for  daylight  to 
come,  and  for  some  helpful  hand  to  lead  me  from  this 
dark,  dreadful  tent  and  out  of  the  dreary,  desolate  grave 
yard  of  a  country. 

"At  last  the  day  dawned ;  Pinkow  called  to  the  lieu 
tenant  what  hour  it  was,  and  when  he  saw  from  the  lieu 
tenant's  looks  that  this  gentleman  had  slept  all  night 
with  his  clothes  on,  he  knew  that  the  remnant  of  whiskey 
had  been  found.  Coming  in  to  light  the  fire,  he  started 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          31 

back  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  me,  and  well  he  might,  for 
when  I  approached  the  little  mirror  over  the  chimney- 
board,  I  saw  that  there  were  white  hairs  among  the 
brown  on  my  head." 

This  damnable  assault  was  the  last  straw.  The  obe 
dient  wife  died  then  and  the  militant  woman  arose  in  her 
might  and  declared  that  let  the  hazards  be  what  they 
would,  she  must  escape  from  this  living  death.  Her  de 
voted  orderly  was  informed ;  he  and  others  plotted  how 
it  was  to  be  done ;  the  commandant  and  other  officers 
heartily  co-operated,  and  at  length  the  long-suffering 
woman  succeeded  in  getting  away.  This  time  it  was 
open,  avowed  flight.  She  was  sent  back,  with  the  most 
kindly  letters  to  the  various  post  commanders,  over  the 
road  she  had  so  recently  traveled  twice,  to  Santa  Fe. 
The  captain  himself  came  and  assured  her  that  he  had 
placed  a  man  with  a  drawn  revolver  in  the  lientenant's 
tent,  a  sentinel  back  and  front  of  the  tent,  and  a  full  com 
pany  as  a  cordon  around  it  to  prevent  any  possibility  of 
escape. 

Could  that  long  journey  have  been  any  other  than  one 
long,  drawn-out  agony?  The  wonder  is  that  human 
beings  do  not  utterly  succumb  under  such  frightful  men 
tal  torture.  But  at  last  she  reached  Santa  Fe.  There 
General  Carleton  placed  her  under  the  kind  protection  of 
General  Alexander  and  his  wife  who,  under  full  and 
watchful  escort,  took  her  back  to  civilization. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  when  they  reached  Fort  Lyons, 
an  express  rider  who  had  followed  them  brought  the 
startling  information  that  the  lieutenant  had  escaped 
again.  Fortunately  he  was  rearrested,  and  subsequently, 
though  he  gained  technical  liberty,  he  was  placed  in  such 


32          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

a  position  by  the  army  proceedings  that  he  made  no 
effort  to  follow  his  wife.  The  last  she  knew  of  him  he 
was  dismissed  from  the  service,  but  from  that  day  to  this 
she  has  never  learned  of  his  whereabouts,  alive  or  dead. 

Almost  immediately  after  she  made  her  escape  from 
Fort  Bayard  other  misfortunes  befell  her  which  com 
pelled  her,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  to  gain  her  own 
living.  Her  brother,  sister  and  mother  were  already  in 
California,  and  it  was  natural  that  she  should  come  there, 
and  for  a  while  she  taught  German  in  the  South  Cosmo 
politan  School  in  San  Francisco.  Then,  while  she  was 
paying  a  short  visit  to  Arizona,  which  always  has  had  a 
great  allurement  for  her,  she  heard  of  the  founding  of 
the  new  magazine  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  the  Overland 
Monthly,  by  Bret  Harte,  and  she  decided  to  try  writing 
for  it.  Her  first  article  was  entitled  "Down  Among  the 
Dead  Letters,"  and  it  appears  in  the  December  number, 
1869.  Harte  liked  it  so  well  he  urged  her  to  write  more, 
and  especially  some  of  her  army  experiences,  and  stories 
based  upon  them.  She  did  so,  and  in  the  Volume  IV 
four  of  her  army  and  desert  sketches  appear,  with  an 
equally  prominent  scattering  in  later  volumes.  Before 
her  first  sketch  appeared,  however,  she  had  been  enabled 
by  the  influence  of  the  Bancrofts  to  visit  the  Harper 
Brothers  in  New  York,  and  they  accepted  one  of  her 
sketches  and  paid  her  on  the  spot  for  it — $45  in  ragged 
greenbacks,  the  first  money  she  had  ever  earned  by  writ 
ing. 

Now  began  what  may  be  called  the  literary  epoch  of 
her  life.  She  wrote  for  many  magazines  and  papers  both 
East  and  West,  until  the  name  Josephine  Clifford  was 
one  of  the  well-known  names  of  current  literature. 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          33 

Then,  in  1881,  Arizona  again  attracted  her.  Her  army 
friends  were  always  begging  her  to  come  to  visit  them, 
and  in  spite  of  the  horrors  she  had  endured  at  Fort  Bay 
ard,  the  country  itself  never  ceased  to  call  her,  so  she 
yielded  to  the  importunity  of  friends  and — met  her  fate ! 
For  while  visiting  around  she  was  introduced  to  many 
prominent  people,  among  others  Jackson  McCrackin,  a 
South  Carolinian  by  birth,  but  now  a  thorough-going 
Westerner.  He  was  the  discoverer  of  a  well-known  and 
productive  gold  mine,  the  speaker  of  the  first  legislature 
ever  convened  in  Arizona,  and  an  attractive  gentleman. 
He  fell  in  love  with  Mrs.  Clifford,  wooed  and  won  her, 
and  in  1882  they  were  married. 

Now  began  the  pastoral  epoch  of  her  life  as  Mrs.  Jose 
phine  Clifford  McCrackin.  She  and  her  husband  moved 
to  a  ranch  they  had  purchased  in  the  Santa  Cruz  moun 
tains,  which  she  named  the  Monte  Paraiso  (Mountain 
Paradise),  and  there  for  seventeen  happy  years  she  lived 
with  the  man  she  loved,  surrounded  by  all  that  sincere 
and  devoted  affection  could  give  her.  During  this  period 
she  wrote  much  for  a  variety  of  publications,  both  Cali- 
fornian  and  Eastern,  and  many  of  her  sketches  were 
translated  and  published  in  German.  She  had  already 
issued,  in  1877,  a  volume  of  her  collected  stories  from  the 
Overland,  so  they  were  called  "Overland  Tales,"  and  in 
1893  a  second  volume,  entitled  "Another  Juanita,"  was 
published. 

In  a  letter  written  to  me  but  a  short  time  ago,  Mrs. 
McCrackin  thus  speaks  of  the  ranch  and  her  life  there: 
"So  many  happy  years  I  spent  on  Monte  Paraiso  Ranch, 
and  I  had  counted  on  spending  the  remaining  years  of 
my  rather  stormy  life  there ;  but  fate  had  decreed  other- 


34          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

wise,  and  the  forest  fire  of  October,  1899,  which  swept 
away  every  building  on  the  ranch,  with  contents,  was 
really  the  beginning  of  the  end,  though  Mr.  McCrackin 
did  not  die  till  December  14,  1904,  and  I  soon  after  left 
the  mountains  and  put  the  land  up  for  sale. 

"We  had  built  up  such  a  beautiful  place ;  it  was  rightly 
named,  before  the  fire  had  swept  it.  And  always  we  had 
delightful  people  with  us,  and  in  the  neighborhood.  Old 
army  friends  looked  in  upon  us,  and  Major-General  Bar 
ry,  with  his  charming  wife,  knew  the  ranch  before  the 
desolation.  Mr.  McCrackin  had  elected  this  distin 
guished  officer  to  the  Presidential  chair  while  he  was 
still  captain  in  the  First  Infantry.  A  young  officer,  Lieu 
tenant  W.  Ory  Smith  of  the  Seventh  Infantry,  was  also 
a  great  favorite  with  Mr.  McCrackin,  for  'Billy'  Smith's 
grandfather,  William  Onry,  the  Arizona  pioneer,  had 
been  his  friend  and  'pardner,'  as  Mr.  McCrackin  was  the 
first  white  man  to  set  foot  on  the  ground  where  Prescott 
now  stands. 

"A  very  pleasant  summer  was  that  of  1899,  though  it 
went  out  with  the  pall  of  smoke  hanging  over  it.  Am 
brose  Bierce  came  up  in  the  Santa  Cruz  mountains  early 
in  the  year,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  remaining 
through  the  season.  Ambrose  Bierce,  the  best-hated  and 
the  best-loved  man  in  California,  whose  renown  followed 
wherever  the  fear  his  name  scattered  had  penetrated 
first.  Yet  he  could  be  so  good  and  kind  and  companion 
able.  Though  he  could  have  been  Mr.  McCrackin's  son 
in  years,  he  chose  to  act  as  if  they  were  old  cronies  to 
gether,  greatly  to  Mac's  delight,  for  Bierce,  too,  claimed 
to  be  country-bred,  and  he  would  turn  to  Mac  for  cor- 
roboration  when  he  said,  'We  used  to  do  so  on  the  farm, 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          35 

didn't  we,  Mac?'     But  he  could  be  merciless  in  his  sar 
casm  ;  he  hated  hypocrisy  and  was  utterly  without  fear. 

"He  made  his  home  at  the  Cotton's  resort,  though  he 
rented  a  cottage  farther  up  the  hill,  where  he  wrote  his 
manuscripts.  To  my  mind  he  never  wrote  more  beau 
tiful  things  than  those  he  wrote  here,  especially  of  retro 
spection,  a  memory  embodying  his  army  days,  the  most 
touching,  pathetic  strain  from  the  depths  of  a  heart  that 
so  many  thought  calloused.  For  Bierce  had  been  an 
army  officer,  and  though  no  one  was  ever  permitted  to 
say  'Major  Bierce,'  I  have  always  maintained  that  the 
army  lost  a  brilliant  officer  where  the  world  of  letters 
gained  a  brilliant  writer. 

"Herman  Scheffauer,  the  young  writer,  now  of  Lon 
don,  was  a  protege  of  Bierce's,  was  with  him  when  the 
forest  fire  devastated  our  land  and  the  surrounding  coun 
try.  The  fire  did  not  burn  below  the  line  of  our  redwood 
timber,  so  the  cottages  on  lower  Loma  Prieta  Avenue, 
where  Bierce  lived,  were  safe.  As  soon  as  they  could, 
our  friends  made  their  way  through  the  fire,  for  the  de 
stroying  element  raged  in  the  mountains  for  nearly  a 
week ;  and  when  we  together  reached  the  ruins  of  the 
Monte  Paraiso  cottage,  I  was  utterly  exhausted,  and  cry 
ing,  too,  and  I  leaned  against  the  only  chimney  that  was 
left  standing  of  the  whole  house.  Mr.  Bierce,  always 
sympathetic,  had  thrown  his  cape,  a  remnant  of  his  sol 
dier-days,  around  me,  for  my  clothes  were  in  tatters ;  and 
Scheffauer  took  the  accompanying  picture,  which  Bierce 
said  reminded  him  of  the  ruined  homes  in  the  South  in 
war  time.  In  every  way  did  this  much-dreaded,  much- 
maligned  man  show  his  sympathy;  and  of  the  writing 


36          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

material  he  brought  to  me  after  the  fire,  I  still  keep  en 
velopes  and  paper  to  remember  him  by." 

Of  the  fire  itself,  Mrs.  McCrackin  wrote  a  graphic 
account,  which  appeared  in  the  Wide  World  Magazine 
for  May,  1902.  Expecting  to  sell  the  ranch,  she  and  her 
husband  had  removed  to  a  cottage  which  they  built,  in 
tending  to  spend  their  last  years  in  quietude  and  com 
fort.  But  the  sale  was  halted  in  some  way,  hence  they 
had  personally  to  see  after  the  harvesting  of  the  grapes, 
apples  and  other  crops.  Mrs.  McCrackin  had  been  to  the 
fruit  house  to  see  how  the  Chinamen  were  getting  along, 
and  as  she  returned  home  she  noticed  smoke  rolling  and 
wavering  in  the  wind  on  the  north  ridge  of  a  nearby 
mountain  chain,  though  several  miles  away.  Her  hus 
band  poo-hooed  the  idea  of  there  being  any  danger,  so 
she  retired  to  rest  as  usual,  but  not  to  sleep.  It  was  not 
until  after  three  in  the  morning  that  she  dropped  into 
an  uneasy  slumber,  only  to  be  awakened  before  dawn  to 
a  sense  of  coming  danger.  Above  the  uproar  of  the 
storm  she  at  last  heard  the  voice  of  a  neighbor:  "For 
heaven's  sake,  wake  up !  You've  lost  everything.  The 
whole  country's  on  fire!  Quick,  for  heaven's  sake,  or 
you'll  burn  in  your  beds !" 

Opening  the  door,  "Heavens !  The  sight !  The  terror 
of  it" — she  wrote — "seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  my 
veins;  but  I  did  not  faint — I  knew  I  must  not  lose  my 
senses.  The  blinding,  flashing,  glaring  flames  shooting 
up  into  the  sky,  higher  than  my  eyes  could  follow;  the 
clouds  of  smoke,  muddy,  turbulent  waves  rolling  above 
sudden  leaps  of  fire ;  the  hideous  roar  and  crackle — it  was 
all  simply  awful.  There  was  nothing  but  fire  and  glare 
and  smoke  as  far  as  my  eyes  could  see,  and  I  could  think 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          37 

of  nothing — my  mind  was  a  blank.  .  .  .  Monte 
Paraiso  fire-swept — the  buildings  in  ashes!  I  watched 
a  lot  of  men,  looking  like  demons  in  the  glare  of  the  fire 
— brandishing  axes,  swinging  brush  hooks,  wielding  long 
shovels,  whipping  the  flames  and  beating  the  ground 
with  boughs  and  branches  in  their  desperate  efforts  to 
beat  back  and  subdue  the  fast-encroaching  enemy.  But 
I  was  stunned.  I  felt  no  interest  in  their  proceedings.  I 
seemed  perfectly  indifferent. 

".  .  .  Then  I  saw  the  chain  of  fire-fighters  slowly 
retreating;  it  was  daylight  now,  and  one  after  the  other 
they  came  nearer  to  the  house.  It  was  safe,  they  still 
told  me ;  but  I  must  be  calm.  Would  not  some  of  them 
have  a  cup  of  coffee,  I  asked.  But  they  all  said,  'Not 
now,  pretty  soon/  " 

The  cause  of  their  delay  was  soon  apparent.  They 
had  assured  Mrs.  McCrackin  too  soon.  The  men  scram 
bled  on  the  roof  of  the  porch  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
A  little  later  she  saw  them  jump  to  the  ground,  and  at 
the  same  moment  she  heard  a  hissing  sound  behind  her. 
"I  turned  in  terror,  only  to  see  flames  leaping  up  into  the 
crown  of  the  very  tree  against  which  I  was  standing, 
while  at  the  same  moment,  the  stable,  belching  flames 
from  its  interior,  burst  asunder  with  the  sound  and  force 
of  an  explosion.  .  .  . 

"I  gave  up  everything  for  lost!  In  a  moment  I  had 
untied  our  horse  from  the  tree,  in  the  branches  of  which 
the  fire-fiend  was  already  making  havoc,  and  rushed 
round  to  the  front  of  the  house  in  order  to  make  my 
escape  down  the  road.  The  fire,  however,  had  reached 
the  road  before  me,  setting  ablaze  everything  on  either 
side  and  cutting  off  this  natural  avenue  of  retreat. 


SS          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Where  should  we  go — which  way  turn?  North,  east 
and  west  were  all  barred  by  fire,  and  our  only  chance 
was  to  get  through  on  the  south,  though  the  tall  firs  on 
the  land  of  our  neighbor  were  already  on  fire.  Some  of 
them,  being  strangers  to  the  locality,  grew  bewildered, 
and  I  could  not  make  myself  heard  in  the  wild  uproar  of 
the  destroying  flames.  Making  a  dash  for  some  bars  in 
the  fence  that  could  be  let  down,  I  motioned  to  the  men 
which  way  I  wanted  to  go.  We  had  plunged  through  the 
vineyard  only  a  short  distance  when  the  wind,  with  a 
sudden  swirl,  brought  up  flames  and  smoke  from  the 
very  direction  in  which  I  was  heading.  A  little  to  the 
west  lay  the  only  avenue  now  open,  but  this  was  barred 
by  a  stout  line  fence,  on  which  the  men  at  once  got  to 
work.  The  fire  was  now  crackling  in  the  trees  above  us, 
and  I  was  half  stifled  with  smoke  and  flying  ashes.  Hud 
dled  together  here,  I  suddenly  missed  Sancho  [her  pet 
dog]  from  our  crowd,  and  though  I  shouted  myself 
hoarse,  it  was  of  no  avail;  perhaps  he  was  already  dead. 

"When  I  saw  the  fence  give  way  I  put  Billy's  bridle 
into  the  hands  of  the  men,  while  I  rushed  through  the 
opening  first  of  all.  My  false  courage  had  left  me,  and 
I  ran  screaming,  but  always  straight  on,  away  from  the 
fire,  through  orchards  and  vineyards,  scaling  or  breaking 
down  fences  as  I  came  to  them.  What  I  saw  when  I 
turned  my  head  only  drove  me  on  the  faster — the  same 
blinding,  glaring  ocean  of  fire,  the  waves  of  flame  rolling 
high  as  the  tree-tops,  in  which  fiery  serpents  seemed  to 
be  hissing  in  rage  and  fury,  and  clouds  of  suffocating 
black  smoke.  Every  now  and  then  pieces  of  burning 
wood  came  hurtling  through  the  air,  murky  with  smoke, 
and  made  still  hotter  by  the  rays  of  the  sun. 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          39 

"Presently  I  came  to  a  fence  which  I  could  neither 
climb  nor  break  down,  and  I  ran  back  to  the  highway, 
where,  in  the  few  houses  that  stood  here,  the  women  had 
all  their  possessions  bundled  up,  ready  to  move,  while 
the  men  folk  were  away  fighting  the  fire.  None  of  these 
women  succeeded  in  stopping  me,  but  when  I  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  next  hill  I  sank  exhausted  on  the 
steps  of  a  veranda,  where  friendly  arms  were  laid  around 
me." 

Soon  she  saw  the  men  who  had  been  so  unselfishly 
working  to  quell  the  fire  at  her  house.  "We  could  save 
nothing.  We  tried  hard  to  save  the  piano,  and  Mr.  Bur- 
rell  badly  burned  his  hands  trying  to  roll  it  out,  but  it 
burned  up  under  the  trees  outside.  We  can  do  no  more, 
and  the  Meyers  have  sent  an  urgent  message  for  help,  so 
we  must  go  on  there." 

At  last  she  was  able  to  reach  the  spot  on  the  road  from 
which  cries  of  admiration  had  always  sprung  from  visi 
tors  and  travelers  as  they  passed  by.  "I  gave  but  one 
look  toward  the  scene  of  desolation  and  ruin,  where  only 
an  hour  before  had  stood  our  tree-sheltered,  flower- 
decked  'Forest  Nook.'  Nothing  was  left  but  the  pitiful 
stumps  and  blackened  bodies  of  the  great  spreading  ma- 
drones;  the  tall  firs  lay  dead  among  smouldering  ash 
heaps ;  the  fire-crisped  leaves  on  the  charred,  half-burned 
branches  of  the  oaks  were  falling,  one  by  one,  to  the  heat- 
baked  ground. 

"  'All  go/  the  old  Chinaman  had  sobbed  a  little  while 
ago.  'All  go/  I  repeated  after  him,  but  I  did  not  sob — I 
could  not" 

And  when  later  they  were  able  to  go  to  the  larger 
ranch  house  of  Monte  Paraiso,  it  "was  not  easy  to  find 


40          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

the  road,  for  the  whole  stretch  of  the  country  was  now 
one  blackened  region,  with  rills  of  fire  still  running 
through  it.  We  found,  however,  that  we  had  only  to 
follow  the  trail  made  by  the  half-burnt  bodies  of  rabbits, 
foxes,  skunks  and  wild-cats,  who  had  evidently  made  for 
the  open  road  when  driven  from  their  lairs  by  the  fire. 
Birds,  partly  consumed  by  the  flames,  had  dropped  in 
their  flight  and  lay  thick  strewn  along  the  land.  Every 
now  and  then  I  had  to  stoop  hastily  to  crush  out  the 
flames  that  came  lapping  up  the  edge  of  my  skirt  as  I 
picked  my  way  along.  Sancho,  poor  beast,  would  howl 
dismally  when  his  foot  accidentally  stirred  up  a  bed  of 
hot  coals,  and  he  limped  worse  than  ever. 

"Alas  for  Monte  Paraiso  and  its  groves  and  gardens! 
The  melted  glass  from  the  tall  windows  lay  in  lumps 
where  the  frames  had  dropped  from  their  settings;  there 
were  a  few  melted  door-knobs  and  nails  by  the  thousand, 
but  no  vestige  of  the  building  they  had  come  out  of. 
Only  the  one  big  chimney,  all-sufficient  for  the  sunny 
clime  we  lived  in,  marked  the  place  where  the  house  had 
stood.  The  ramshackle  building  called  the  fruit  house, 
the  oldest  on  the  ranch,  had  been  left  by  the  fire  in  mock 
ing  irony.  As  for  the  rest,  barn,  stable,  Chinaman's 
house,  wagons,  ploughs,  harness,  hay — 'all  go.'  'J 

It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good,  and  this 
great  forest  fire  and  the  consequent  destruction  of  scores 
of  acres  of  giant  redwoods  called  attention  to  the  fact 
that  these  monarchs  of  the  forest  were  fast  disappearing. 
Having  had  her  heart  wrenched  at  seeing  her  own  glori 
ous  trees  laid  low,  Mrs.  McCrackin  wrote  a  rousing 
article  in  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel  of  March  7,  1900,  call 
ing  upon  the  people  of  the  state  to  awake  and  save  the 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          41 

redwoods.  Her  letter  was  copied  everywhere.  It  was 
made  the  text  of  addresses  and  harangues  here,  there, 
and  everywhere,  nearly  all  of  which  highly  favored  her 
suggestion.  Andrew  P.  Hill,  a  tree  enthusiast,  a  fine 
photographer  and  an  artist  in  oils,  had  found  near  the 
coast  in  Santa  Cruz  country  a  "Big  Basin"  filled  with 
these  giant  redwoods,  and  he  and  Mrs.  McCrackin  began 
to  work  together  to  see  if  this  "basin"  of  majestic  trees 
could  not  be  saved  for  the  people  forever.  Hugo  de 
Vries,  the  eminent  Holland  scientist,  in  his  "To  Cali 
fornia,"  published  in  1905,  in  Haarlem,  Holland,  thus 
speaks  of  Mrs.  McCrackin's  endeavors  and  their  results : 

"Up  to  March,  1900,  the  world  was  threatened  with  the 
loss  of  the  Sempervirens  forest.  It  was  almost  too  late. 
The  Big  Basin,  up  to  that  time,  was  the  only  forest  which 
had  not  yet  been  touched  by  lumbermen,  but  the  cost  of 
lumber  then  was  so  high  that  lumber  companies  already 
were  considering  the  value  of  these  wonderful  giants. 

"For  several  years  past  the  forest  had  been  owned  by 
a  lumber  company,  and  when  all  the  surrounding  country 
had  been  stripped  of  its  growth,  this  company  did  not 
hesitate  to  move  their  saw  mill  to  the  oldest,  the  most 
beautiful,  the  richest  part  of  this  basin.  All  was  in  readi 
ness,  and  the  only  thing  they  waited  for  was  the  order  to 
commence. 

"It  was  at  that  time  that  the  danger  bell  began  to  ring. 
The  Californians  commenced  to  realize  that  they  were 
bordering  the  loss  of  one  of  Nature's  greatest  wonders, 
which  has  become  the  fame  of  the  state  of  California, 
and  which  has  added  so  greatly  in  the  state's  wonderful 
development. 

"It  was  Mrs.  Josephine  Clifford  McCrackin  who  called 


42          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

our  attention  to  this  danger  mark,  by  writing  an  article 
in  the  Santa  Cruz  Sentinel,  pointing  to  that  calamity. 
Everyone  at  once  realized  what  would  be  the  outcome 
unless  effective  steps  were  immediately  taken.  Mrs. 
McCrackin  received  assistance  and  co-operation  from  all 
sides,  and  by  circulating  photographs,  etc.,  the  wide 
awake  citizens  soon  had  a  thorough  understanding  of 
the  true  state  of  affairs,  and  the  trees  were  saved.'* 

Largely  under  Mrs.  McCrackin's  influence  the  Semper- 
virens  Club  was  formed,  Sempervirens  being  the  specific 
scientific  name  of  the  giant  redwood — sequoia  semper- 
virens — the  everlasting  redwood.  The  object  of  the  club 
was  to  save  the  redwoods  of  the  Big  Basin,  containing  a 
greater  number  of  giant  redwoods  on  a  given  space  than 
any  other  spot  in  California  or  in  the  known  world.  The 
object  of  the  club  appealed  to  the  local  pride  of  every 
organization  in  the  state — the  Native  Sons,  the  Native 
Daughters,  the  Pioneers,  etc.,  and  in  due  time  3,800  out 
of  14,000  acres  were  purchased  by  the  state,  named  the 
California  Redwood  Park,  put  under  the  administration 
of  a  non-political  commission  and  a  warden  appointed 
to  give  it  adequate  care,  attention  and  protection.  Every 
year  since  its  acquisition  the  Club  has  officially  visited 
the  park.  On  its  first  visit  it  was  honored  with  the  pres 
ence  of  Dr.  Hugo  de  Vries,  who  in  European  scientific 
circles  has  long  occupied  the  same  position  that  Luther 
Burbank  here  holds  in  the  estimation  of  the  scientists 
and  the  general  public. 

As  one  result  of  her  work  for  the  redwoods,  Herman 
Scheffauer  wrote  the  following  exquisite  tribute  which 
he  dedicated  to  her : 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN          43 
SAVIOR  OF  THE  SEQUOIAS. 

The  Titans  of  the  forest,  to  the  east  winds  sprung  forth 

from  the  sea. 
Give  them,  O  worthy  'mongst  women,  their  thanks  and 

their  greetings  for  thee! 
When,  under  their  ancient,  overarching  arms,  your  feet 

shall  bestir  the  grass, 
Bright  dews  from  their  boughs  shall  be  shaken  on  your 

reverent  head  as  you  pass. 
From  their  roots,  clutching  deep  in  the  earth,  to  each 

patriarch's  head  in  the  skies, 
The  race  of  these  giants  had  vanished,  as  the  race  of 

mortals  dies; 
Coeval  with  Earth  and  defying  Time,  they  had  perished 

by  the  blade, 
If  never  your  pitying  heart  and  hand  the  hand  of  the 

vandal  had  stayed. 
Therefore,  in  the  forest  silences,  in  the  tongue  of  the 

noblest  trees, 
A  name  is  whispered  with  love  to  the  winds  in  their 

twilight  symphonies. 
They  that  are  older  than  Egypt  or  Ind  and  shall  outlive 

the  Ultimate  Man — 
The  deathless  sequoias  immortal  shall  hold  that  name 

like  the  spirit  of  Pan. 
'Tis  for  this  that  the  bearded  Titans  to  the  east  wind 

have  sprung  forth  from  the  sea, 
Give  them,  O  worthy  'mongst  women,  their  thanks  and 

their  greetings  for  thee ! 

Nor  was  her  work  for  the  redwoods  the  limit  of  her 
beneficial  endeavor.  Filled  with  that  love  that  only  great 
natures  feel  for  the  smaller  brothers  and  sisters  of  the 


44          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

forest  and  the  air,  and  appalled  by  the  reckless  slaughter 
of  songbirds  on  all  sides,  she  sent  forth,  in  1901,  a  num 
ber  of  clarion  notes  of  warning  and  then  organized  the 
first  bird-protection  society  of  California,  entitled  "The 
Ladies*  Forest  and  Song  Birds  Protection  Association," 
of  which  she  is  the  honored  president.  With  pen  and 
voice,  everywhere  in  the  state,  when  the  way  is  opened 
for  her,  this  whole-souled  lover  of  the  birds  is  found 
working  in  their  interest,  and  thousands  of  people  in 
California  owe  their  first  introduction  to  humanitarian 
principles,  as  far  as  birds  and  animals  are  concerned,  to 
what  Mrs.  McCrackin  has  said  or  written. 

In  1904  Mr.  McCrackin  died,  and  this  woman  of  noble, 
generous  impulses,  of  dignified  family,  of  varied  fortunes, 
was  suddenly  thrown  upon  her  own  resources.  For 
there  was  a  heavy  mortgage  on  Monte  Paraiso,  and  she 
was  incapable  of  running  the  ranch  and  making  it  pay. 
But  with  that  unquenchable  spirit  of  freedom  and  inde 
pendence  that  had  always  led  her  to  triumph  over  the 
worst  of  obstacles,  she  moved  to  Santa  Cruz  and  took  up 
the  burden  of  gaining  her  own  livelihood. 


HER    RED    HAIR 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  shrill  scream  from  the  locomotive,  a  series  of  spas 
modic  jerks,  and  the  train  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  A 
rush  of  passengers  to  the  side  of  the  car  on  which  outside 
could  be  heard  the  swift  running  of  the  train  men,  and 
then  a  crowding  to  the  door  and  platform,  to  investigate 
the  cause  of  the  stoppage  and  learn  the  probable  duration 
of  the  delay.  As  one  and  the  other  of  the  passengers 
sauntered  back  to  his  seat,  after  a  little  while,  the  "hot 
box"  which  had  caused  the  trouble  was  mentioned  in  no 
friendly  manner,  as  almost  every  individual  on  the  train 
would  seem  to  have  been  hindered  and  delayed  by  it  in 
the  carrying  out  of  some  most  important  piece  of  busi 
ness,  which  was  t.o  have  been  transacted  immediately 
upon  the  arrival  of  this  train  in  San  Francisco. 

One  person,  however,  seemed  to  be  perfectly  unaf 
fected — a  young  woman,  sitting  rather  toward  the  end 
of  the  car,  which  she  had  not  left  at  all  while  the  rest  had 
rushed  out,  or  stretched  their  necks  from  the  platform 
steps,  when  the  train  had  stopped.  She  had  not  even 
crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  car,  but  remained  where 
she  was,  gazing  steadily  out  of  the  window,  over  a  coun 
try  entirely  new  and  strange  to  her,  for  she  and  her  com 
panion  had  boarded  this  train  a  few  hours  since,  at  a 
station  where  the  Eastern  train  crossed  this  line. 

Her  companion,  a  gentleman  in  faultless  traveling  suit 
and  followed  by  the  colored  porter  from  the  Eastern 


46          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

train,  loaded  with  wraps  and  handbags,  looked  younger 
at  first  glance,  than  the  lady  with  him;  and  handsomer, 
people  would  have  declared,  than  she.  Seating  himself 
opposite  her  in  the  small  space  left  by  traveling-bags 
and  rugs,  he  had  deliberately  surveyed  the  other  occu 
pants  of  the  car,  bestowing,  last  of  all,  a  most  critical 
look  upon  his  mate.  To  say  that  disapprobation  was  ex 
pressed  in  the  colorless,  aristocratic  face  with  its  straight 
nose  and  insolent,  disdainful  lines  about  the  mouth, 
would  be  using  a  very  mild  term;  for  the  features  grew 
sharp  and  the  eyes  wrathful,  as  they  rested  upon  the 
half-averted  head  and  graceful  shoulders  of  the  lady. 

"What  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  ugly,  have  you  done 
to  yourself  now?"  he  asked  angrily.  "What  is  that 
shabby  dress  for?  Did  you  borrow  that  hat  from  a  scare 
crow?  Have  you  lost  the  lace  scarf  that  I  bought  you?" 
With  each  sentence  his  voice  grew  higher,  and  his  nos 
trils  quivered  with  passion  as  he  went  on.  "And  where, 
in  the  devil's  name,  is  your  hair — what  have  you  done 
with  it?  Just  today,  when  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
that  you  should  display  that  accursed  red  mane  of  yours, 
you  must  needs  go  hide  it  under  that  abomination  of  a 
Quaker  bonnet.  Was  ever  a  man  irritated  and  angered 
by  an  obstinate  piece  of  femininity  as  I  am ;  it  would  try 
the  patience  of  a  saint.  And  what  will  Dick  Lockhart 
think  when  he  comes  to  meet  a  dowdy-looking  thing  like 
you?  But  you  shall  pay  for  it — oh!"  He  ground  his 
teeth  with  rage  while  tossing  around  the  various  satchels 
and  valises,  in  a  rough  way  beside  him,  as  though  they 
could  feel  the  abuse  he  gave  them. 

The  lady  in  the  meantime  had  sat  rigid  and  cold.  Her 
lips,  only  lightly  closed  when  first  he  spoke,  had  been 


HER  RED  HAIR  47 

pressed  more  and  more  firmly  as  he  went  on  with  his 
angry  tirade,  till  at  last  her  face  had  really  assumed  a 
shade  of  obstinacy  with  which  he  had  charged  her.  Only 
once,  when  he  had  alluded  in  such  uncomplimentary 
terms  to  her  hair,  had  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him, — 
the  eyes  of  a  creature  hurt  and  grieved  beyond  reconcilia 
tion  and  forgiveness, — and  after  that  she  had  remained 
motionless,  till  the  slamming  of  a  door  advised  her  that 
her  companion  had  left  her,  to  seek  consolation  in  the 
buffet  or  the  smoking-car.  Then  life  had  come  back  to 
her  inanimate  form,  and  she  looked  furtively  this  way 
and  that,  to  see  whether  the  little  scene  just  enacted  had 
found  spectators  in  the  car.  But  she  was  quickly  re 
assured  on  this  point ;  the  few  passengers  in  the  car  after 
taking  the  measure  of  the  new-comers  upon  first  enter 
ing,  had  forgotten  them  again  before  the  flood-gates  of 
the  man's  wrath  had  opened  upon  her. 

Slowly  and  by  almost  imperceptible  degrees  the 
change  in  her  outward  appearance  had  continued  after 
this — by  denuding  her  throat  of  the  little  white  collar  she 
wore,  drawing  off  her  delicate  gloves,  and  removing  a 
gleaming  gem  or  two  from  her  fingers.  All  these  small 
objects  she  placed  carefully  in  the  most  elegant  of  the 
traveling-bags  marked  with  a  monogram  and  the  name 
of  a  large  city  in  the  Southwest — hiding  it,  after  closing 
it  again,  under  a  heap  of  wraps  and  mufflers,  on  the  seat 
which  the  gentlemen  had  occupied.  Then  drawing 
toward  her  a  worn,  unsightly  valise,  she  placed  it  beside 
her,  laying  across  it  an  old,  faded  shawl. 

And  there  she  had  sat  through  long  weary  hours,  the 
abused  Quaker  bonnet  drawn  well  down  over  her  eyes, 
the  naked  hands  half-hidden  under  the  shawl.  Once  or 


48          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

twice,  as  the  train  halted  at  some  way  station,  she  had 
cast  keen  glances  toward  the  door,  opened  to  admit  or 
let  out  passengers ;  and  more  than  once  had  she  grasped 
the  shabby  valise  as  if  to  leave  the  car  with  it.  But  al 
ways  a  look  of  indecision  and  despairing  helplessness  had 
come  into  her  face,  and  the  hands  had  fallen  irresolutely 
away  from  the  bag. 

But  now,  while  passengers  were  moving  from  seat  to 
seat,  utilizing  the  temporary  stoppage  for  communicat 
ing  to  each  other  their  railroad  views  in  general  and  the 
running  of  this  train  in  particular,  while  all  eyes  were 
turned  in  the  direction  where  the  offending  "hot  box" 
was  known  to  be,  a  quick  decision  seemed  to  inform  the 
still  figure  with  sudden  life,  and  quietly  rising  in  her  seat 
she  lifted  the  small  valise  lightly  in  her  hand,  threw  the 
shawl  over  it  and  walked  steadily  to  the  rear  end  of  the 
car.  Stepping  to  the  side  of  the  platform  remotest  from 
the  "hot  box,"  she  made  sure  that  none  of  her  fellow 
passengers  were  loitering  here,  then  swiftly  dropped 
from  the  steps  to  the  ground  and  walked  briskly  to  where 
the  faint  glimmer  of  a  footpath  could  be  seen,  which  led 
into  a  clump  of  live-oaks,  with  an  undergrowth  of  wild 
shrubs  that  reached  in  some  places  clear  to  the  limbs  of 
these  low-growing,  spreading  trees.  Walking  with  easy, 
swinging  step,  as  free  from  haste  as  from  lingering,  she 
had  reached  and  passed  the  edge  of  the  thicket  before 
the  clanging  of  the  bell  and  the  grinding  of  the  wheels 
told  her  that  the  train  had  started. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Then  she  could  conquer  her  mad  desire  to  run  at  the 
top  of  her  speed  no  longer.  Hampered  by  her  load,  light 
as  it  was,  she  ran  with  such  wild  haste  that  the  rush  of 
air  seemed  to  catch  in  her  throat  and  cut  as  with  knives 
while  it  entered  her  lungs.  Her  heart  leaped  up  till  it 
strangled  her,  and  flames  seemed  to  dart  and  shoot  be 
fore  her,  as  if  her  brain  were  on  fire  and  the  flames  were 
breaking  out  of  her  eyes.  But  she  struggled  on,  panting, 
half-blind,  with  trembling  limbs,  and  feet  that  stumbled 
against  the  roots  and  rocks  obstructing  the  narrow  trail. 

She  had  reached  a  little  rill  of  water  now,  so  small  here 
that  a  small  plank  spanned  it,  but  broadening  its  bed,  a 
piece  farther  on,  so  as  to  require  the  heavy  bridge  across 
which  the  train  had  but  now  thundered.  Utterly  ex 
hausted  she  threw  herself  beside  the  tiny  stream,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  over  her  beating  heart  and  closing  her  eyes 
to  shut  out  the  blood-red  glow  she  saw  before  them. 
But  it  was  only  to  gain  breath,  not  to  rest,  that  she  had 
paused ;  the  next  moment  she  was  up  again,  and  with  one 
eager,  straining  look  in  the  direction  from  whence  she 
had  come — to  assure  herself  that  she  saw  no  dreaded 
form  approaching,  she  hastened  on  blindly  following  the 
trail  to  where  it  might  lead.  Now  she  heard  the  bell 
ringing  on  its  approach  to  some  town  and  she  was 
tempted  to  turn  back  for  the  sound  seemed  to  come  from 
the  direction  toward  which  she  was  hastening;  and  it 
was  only  when  coming  suddenly  upon  an  opening  in  the 
trees  she  saw  the  path  branching  off  in  the  opposite  line 


50          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

to  where  the  smoke  from  the  locomotive  arose,  that  she 
felt  reassured  and  ran  on.  Not  far,  however;  a  sudden 
dizziness  came,  her  burning  cheeks  blanched,  and  only  a 
most  determined  effort  saved  her  from  a  faint.  But  her 
hair,  the  heavy  braids  loosened  in  her  swift  run,  came 
tumbling  down  over  back  and  shoulders — a  mass  of  silk 
with  the  sheen  of  gold  in  its  dark  brown  waves.  A  light 
wind  blew  soft  tresses  across  her  bosom  and  over  her 
face.  With  angry  impatience  she  raised  her  arms  to 
gather  up  the  loosened  masses  of  hair,  while  for  the  first 
time  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"  'That  accursed  red  mane' " — she  apostrophized  the 
heavy  braids  as  she  tugged  and  twisted  at  them  as  if  she 
would  pluck  them  out  by  the  roots.  "  'That  accursed 
red  mane' " — she  repeated  with  eyes  ablaze  and  and  in 
dignation  ringing  in  her  voice;  then  the  hot  tears  fell 
again,  and  rocking  to  and  fro  in  helpless  despair  she 
moaned — "oh!  what  have  I  done,  and  what  shall  I  do?'1 

A  crackling  in  the  underbrush  started  her,  and  she 
went  on  again,  always  directly  away  from  where  she  had 
last  seen  the  smoke  of  the  locomotive  arise.  She  lost  the 
trail  and  struck  it  again,  without  knowing  it,  for  she 
could  see  where  the  thicket  lifted  and  the  live-oak  grew 
no  longer. 

Then  at  last  she  drew  breath  and  looked  around  her. 
Stopping  where  she  could  see  a  wagon-road  in  the  dis 
tance,  she  made  her  despised  hair  still  more  secure  under 
her  bonnet,  brushed  the  leaves  from  her  woolen  dress, 
folded  her  shawl  neatly  over  her  handbag,  and  assuming 
an  air  of  tranquility  she  was  far  from  feeling,  she  walked 
toward  the  road  and  instinctively  turned  to  the  right. 
It  was  a  country  road,  perfectly  open  at  this  point,  but 


HER  RED  HAIR  51 

bordered  by  fences,  a  piece  farther  on,  and  houses  visible 
in  the  distance.  To  her  left,  far  off,  she  could  see  the 
outlines  of  what  seemed  a  very  moderate-sized  town — 
undoubtedly  the  place  where  the  train  had  last  stopped. 
Turning  her  back  hastily  on  this  view,  she  walked  with 
steady  steps  along  the  road  till  she  reached  a  rustic 
fence  which  soon  changed  its  character  and  became  a 
neat  white  picket  paling,  surrounding  grounds  both 
spacious  and  tasteful.  The  center  piece  was  a  house, 
well-covered  with  the  roses,  the  clematis  and  the  smilax 
Californians  are  so  proud  of  flinging  into  the  faces  of 
their  Eastern  cousins.  In  a  different  frame  of  mind  it 
might  have  struck  her  that  there  was  something  odd 
about  this  home,  a  new  half,  apparently  all  bay-window, 
plate-glass  and  turret-roofs,  and  the  old  half,  vine-cov 
ered,  with  common-sized  windows  and  plain  cottage  roof. 
But  had  she  been  in  more  placid  mood  even  her  attention 
would  have  been  drawn  away  from  all  this  by  the  sounds 
that  came  from  the  interior  of  this  pretentious  pile — the 
cries  of  a  child,  which  from  a  fretful  wailing  had  grown 
into  a  persistent  and  distressful  sob. 

It  was  not  the  lusty,  naughty  screeching  of  a  healthy 
little  brute;  but  a  continued,  pitiful  cry,  that  went 
straight  to  her  woman's  heart  and  made  it  ache  to  take 
the  little  one  to  her  breast.  She  stood  still  and  listened. 
The  cries  did  not  cease,  and  she  could  distinguish  that 
they  came  from  the  less  elegant  side  of  the  house.  Both 
parts  of  the  house  looked  coldly  and  with  an  air  of  ex- 
clusiveness  upon  the  world  outside,  but  that  was  evi 
dently  life  in  the  older  wing.  With  beating  heart  she 
opened  the  gracefully-designed  gate  and  traversed  a 
gravelled  walk  that  led  to  the  house.  As  she  approached 


52  JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

she  could  see  signs  of  childlife  about  the  premises;  and 
an  evident  lack  of  neatness  and  order  made  itself  felt. 
A  copy  of  Mother  Goose  had  been  squeezed  in  between 
the  slats  of  the  window-shutters ;  a  decapitated  doll-baby 
lay  sprawling  on  the  well-built  but  badly  swept  vestibule 
floor,  and  a  rocking-horse  had  broken  its  neck  in  trying 
to  make  the  descent  of  all  the  steps  at  once.  A  single 
glance  showed  her  all  the  details ;  it  was  plain  that  there 
were  more  children  here  to  take  care  of  than  the  one 

whose  waitings  still  tore  her  ears  and  heart,  and . 

She  did  not  stop  to  think  out  her  thought,  but  resolutely 
approached  the  closed  portal  through  which  came  the 
cries  of  the  little  one,  fainter  now  and  more  plaintively. 

Startling  the  echoes  and  herself  with  the  reverbera 
tions  of  the  heavy  knocker,  she  paused  with  bated  breath 
to  listen  to  the  patter  of  quick  feet  which  almost  in 
stantly  appeared.  A  moment  later  she  helped  push  back 
the  heavy  door,  and  looked  down  on  a  small,  stout  speci 
men  of  humanity,  a  girl  of  about  four,  who  gazed  keenly 
at  her  for  a  second  before  lifting  up  her  voice  and  calling 
back  over  her  shoulder : 

"Papa,  papa!  She's  dot  red  hair!  It's  our  new  dirl, 
shure!" 

Then,  turning  hurriedly  back  she  seized  our  heroine 
by  the  hand  and  dragged  her  along  the  hall,  charging  her 
to  "make  haste  and  take  my  little  buzzer;  he  c'y,  c'y,  c'y 
all  the  time  and  papa  can't  make  him  hush  up." 

Dropping  her  satchel  down  against  the  wall,  and 
throwing  her  hat  on  top  of  it,  she  followed  her  mentor 
into  the  room  where  "little  buzzer"  lay  in  a  child's  crib 
over  which  a  broad-shouldered  man  was  bending,  trying 
vainly  to  soothe  the  distress  of  the  occupant.  Without 


HER  RED  HAIR  53 

further  ceremony  the  four-year-old  pulled  her  father 
manfully  by  the  coat-tails,  urging  him  to  come  away  and 
let  the  new  girl  take  the  little  brother. 

Lifting  the  child  from  the  crib,  the  new  girl  gave  one 
look  into  the  pinched,  drawn  face,  and  exclaimed  in  ac 
cents  of  the  deepest  pity: 

"Why,  he's  hungry !  Poor  little  chap,  no  wonder  he's 
crying." 

The  man  looked  on  in  helpless  surprise. 

"Hungry!"  he  repeated,  "why,  that  can't  be.  Bridget 
must  have  fed  him  before  she  went  to  town.  Surely  I 
saw  his  little  basin  there  just  now,  and  it  was  empty." 

Miss  Four-year-old  again  broke  forth. 

"No,  no,  papa;  baby  was  asleep  when  Bridget  went 
away,  and  Bobby  ate  the  baby's  dinner." 

Bobby,  who  had  sat  unmoved  through  this  contro 
versy,  absorbed  in  transferring  the  "animals  two  by  two, 
the  Elephant  and  the  Kangaroo" — from  his  Noah's  Ark 
to  the  little  table  in  front  of  him,  answered  stolidly  in  the 
affirmative  when  the  question  of  having  diverted  the 
baby's  dinner  to  his  own  purposes  was  put  to  him  di 
rectly.  The  starving  infant  in  the  meantime  might  have 
cried  itself  to  sleep  hungry,  had  not  the  little  girl  once 
more  come  to  the  rescue. 

"Bridget  put  some  more  dinner  on  the  stove  for  baby ; 
she  said  the  little  pig  would  eat  this."  Evidently  the 
young  lady  was  quoting  "Bridget"  verbatim' et  literatim, 
but  no  attention  was  paid  to  the  offensive  epithet. 

"Where  is  the  kitchen?"  asked  the  stranger,  looking 
around  for  a  wrap  to  throw  over  the  child,  still  feebly 
wailing  in  her  arms. 


54          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

The  little  girl  tugged  at  the  remains  of  what  had  been 
a  costly  India  shawl,  tangled  up  in  the  multitudinous 
coverings  piled  on  the  crib ;  the  father  coming  to  her  aid 
with  the  half  apologetic  remark  that  he  would  have  to 
look  after  his  men,  but  would  return  immediately.  As 
he  passed  out  of  the  door  through  which  she  had  entered, 
her  youthful  guide  proceeded  to  draw  aside  a  portiere 
which  hung  over  the  entrance  to  what  was  evidently  the 
sleeping-room  of  the  children,  from  whence  they  crossed 
a  little  porch  and  reached  the  kitchen  by  a  short-cut. 

The  child  in  her  arms  had  ceased  its  wailing  and 
watched  with  longing  eyes  the  short  preparation  neces 
sary  for  the  satisfying  of  its  hunger.  The  faithful 
Bridget,  whoever  she  might  be,  had  left  an  appetizing 
bowl  of  broth  on  the  cook-stove,  and  the  child  was  soon 
crowing  over  its  contents  as  it  lay  comfortably  bedded 
in  the  lap  of  its  new-found  friend. 

"What's  your  name?"  The  question,  although  pro 
pounded  by  childish  lips,  seemed  so  brutally  abrupt  that 
it  startled  both  the  woman  and  the  little  one  in  her  lap, 
but  she  replied  with  quickly  regained  self-possession, 
"Annie,  and  yours?" 

"Bee-a-twis,"  she  informed  her  proudly,  but  they  call 
me  Trixy." 

"That  is  a  very  pretty  name  indeed;  and  what  is  the 
name  of  your  little  brother  here?"  Annie  continued  her 
inquisition. 

Trixy  struggled  hard  to  articulate  something  which 
was  plainly  beyond  her  power,  till  at  last  she  ejaculated 
the  two  distinct  syllables  "De  Cobb  I" 

"De  Cobb,"  repeated  our  friend  a  little  amused  at  the 


HER  RED  HAIR  55 

odd  name.  But  Trixy,  red  in  the  face  with  exertion, 
protested : 

"No,  no— not  De  Cobb,  Daycob." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  Jacob,"  assented  the  girl.  How  very 
stupid  in  me  not  to  understand  the  name.  And  you  call 
him  Cobby — do  you  not?" 

"I  always  call  him  that,"  affirmed  Trixy.  "Can  I  have 
that?"  she  asked  as  she  pointed  to  what  was  left  of  the 
broth. 

"Certainly."  Annie  was  quite  bewildered  to  think  that 
she  should  be  looked  upon  as  one  having  authority  there. 


CHAPTER  III. 

While  Trixy  was  busy  with  spoon  and  fingers,  Annie 
thought  it  no  harm  to  take  notes  as  far  as  might  be.  The 
dimensions,  furnishing  and  finishing  of  the  kitchen  were 
all  on  a  generous  scale;  but  the  incongruity  that  had 
obtruded  itself  in  the  other  portion  of  the  house,  even 
in  the  brief  glimpse  she  had  had  of  it,  seemed  to  repeat 
itself  here.  From  china-closet  to  table-drawer,  a 
strange  mixture  of  superfine  and  coarse  homely  things, 
seemed  to  exist.  Beside  the  most  delicate  hand-painted 
cake-basket  and  sugar  bowl  to  match,  there  stood  a 
common  white  cream  jug,  and  in  among  the  remains  of 
a  dainty  fish-service  stood  crowded  a  lot  of  hard  fea 
tured,  staring,  glaring  crockery.  In  the  table  drawer 
were  pearl  headed,  silver  bladed  knives,  hobnobbing  with 
stout  blackhandled  rural  cutlery.  Silver  and  pewter 
spoons  were  on  perfect  equality  here;  and  the  finest, 
most  sensitive  cutglass  seemed  to  stand  in  awe  of  the 
coarser  grain  of  the  tumblers  and  pitchers  surrounding  it. 

The  child  in  her  lap — or  at  least  its  clothing — showed 
the  same  marked  disharmony.  A  little  sacque  of  the 
finest  silk  velvet,  woefully  crumpled  and  creased,  had 
been  drawn  over  the  dress  of  common  calico,  badly  made 
and  a  world  too  wide  for  the  meager  bit  of  humanity  it 
enfolded.  Wide  as  the  garment  was,  however,  it  did  not 
half  clothe  the  child,  for  its  lean  arms  seemed  unnaturally 
long,  and  protruded  hungrily  from  the  sleeves,  making 
the  thin  hands  look  like  claws,  and  matched  in  ugliness 
only  by  the  sharp,  bony  nose  in  the  narrow  face.  Even 


HER  RED  HAIR  57 

the  head  was  mis-shapen,  and  not  the  most  glowing 
fancy,  not  the  most  ardent  mother-love,  could  have  found 
anything  beautiful  or  lovely  in  the  child's  exterior  except 
its  eyes,  which  were  dark  and  soft,  and  had  in  them  the 
appealing  look  which  we  see  in  the  eyes  of  a  lost  dog. 

A  glance  from  the  window  showed  her  that  a  fog  had 
drifted  in,  obscuring  the  sun  which  had  shone  so  brightly 
on  her  flight  from  the  cars.  She  shuddered ;  not  so  much 
from  cold  as  from  the  recollection  of  her  breathless  jour 
ney.  But  a  pair  of  shining  eyes  had  been  steadfastly  re 
garding  her;  and  with  an  instinct  of  watchfulness,  born 
perhaps  of  the  constant  vigilance  she  maintained  over 
the  "little  beggar,"  Trixy  exclaimed  with  much  concern : 

"Cold,  Annie?  I'll  det  some  kindlin's  and  you  make 
a  fire  in  the  room.  Bridget  said  you  would  when  you 
came."  And  hustling  around  like  an  old  housewife  of 
fifty,  Trixy  filled  her  apron  with  "kinlins,"  while  Annie 
was  still  pondering  the  question  of  how  Bridget  had 
known  that  she  would  build  a  fire  in  the  sitting-room  of 
the  mansion  tonight. 

But  she  followed  Trixy  back  into  the  room,  laid  the 
child  in  its  crib  while  Trixy  ran  back  to  the  kitchen  for 
a  piece  of  cake  to  fill  the  mouth  wide  open  and  pouring 
forth  a  series  of  howls  of  the  "ozzer  buzzer"  who  had  at 
last  become  weary  of  Father  Noah's  menagerie.  She 
soon  started  a  cheerful  blaze  in  the  broad,  open  fireplace. 
Then  she  took  up  the  child  again,  which  reached  out  its 
long  scrawny  arms  to  her  and  cooed  and  crowed  softly 
when  Annie  seated  herself  near  the  fire  with  it,  smiling 
its  gratitude  and  fairly  glowing  with  content.  Trixy 
had  climbed  up  on  the  couch  beside  her,  and  the  "ozzer 


58          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

buzzer"  was  enjoying  his  cake — at  least  such  portions  of 
it  as  were  not  scattered  over  the  carpet. 

Traveling  down  the  length  of  the  room,  her  eyes 
lighted  up  as  they  rested  on  a  handsome  grand  piano, 
close  up  to  which  was  pushed  a  plain  deal  table  on  which 
stood  dishes  and  a  saucepan,  and  children's  toys — all  in 
the  wildest  confusion.  On  the  piano  were  deposited 
articles  of  dress,  shoes  and  socks  of  the  children,  and, 
conspicuous  above  everything  else,  a  gentleman's  tall 
silk  hat,  with  a  broad  band  of  crepe  around  it. 

The  chairs, — some  airily  and  elegantly  fashioned,  and 
covered  with  brocade  silk  and  plush;  others  plainly  im 
portations  from  the  kitchen, — and  verandas  were  littered 
with  more  articles  of  clothing,  ranging  from  a  coarse 
kitchen-apron  to  the  black  broadcloth  dress-suit  of  a 
gentleman.  The  cushion  which  Trixy  had  pulled  up  to 
the  fire,  was  fit  to  grace  the  boudoir  of  the  most  fastidi 
ous  dame ;  but  the  stool  she  dragged  out  from  under  the 
lounge  for  Annie's  feet  to  rest  on  was  a  homely  wooden 
one  and  cheaply  made. 

The  little  boy's  lower  extremities  were  clothed  in  silk 
attire,  while  an  apron  of  the  coarsest  gingham  covered 
waist  and  arms.  Trixy  herself  wore  an  apron  so  small 
and  tight  that  her  fat  arms  looked  like  well  stuffed  sau 
sages;  while  her  stockings  dangled  loosely  about  her 
sturdy,  well  developed  legs.  In  short,  the  room  and  its 
inmates  would  have  conveyed  the  impression  that  each 
child,  as  it  arose  each  morning,  dived  into  the  various 
piles  of  clothing  and  wore  for  the  day  whatever  it  hap 
pened  to  fish  out. 

Still  the  house,  as  far  as  she  could  see  it,  had  an  air  of 
comfort  and  plenty  about  it,  and  only  a  hand  seemed 


HER  RED  HAIR  59 

lacking  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos.  Had  Annie  not  been 
so  entirely  engrossed  by  her  own  communings  she  might 
have  tried  to  read  the  riddle  of  these  strange  surround 
ings;  as  it  was,  her  thoughts  centered  in  the  one  ques 
tion  :  had  she  found  shelter  here — dared  she  hope  a  home, 
or  must  she  go  forth  again  to  find  a  place  to  lay  her 
aching  head  for  the  night.  The  early  spring  day  was 
closing,  and  the  firelit  room  was  so  bright  compared  to 
the  fog  and  drizzle  outside.  Oh,  if  she  could  but  stay. 

Just  then  two  w-arm  little  hands  clasped  themselves 
about  her  neck,  and  Trixy  pushed  her  face  close  up  to 
hers,  and  to  the  manifest  discomfort  of  the  "little  buz 
zer,"  who  protested  to  the  utmost  of  his  weak  ability. 

"Say!"  she  opened  conversation  in  a  persuasive  tone, 
"You's  dot  red  hair — ain't  you?  And  you  must  be  cross 
eyed,  for  Aunt  Tildy  said  so.  What's  the  matter  with 
your  eyes?  They  ain't  so — "  and  her  eyes  underwent  the 
most  fearful  gymnastics  in  order  to  produce  a  squint. 

Poor  Annie !  Her  heart  sank  as  she  realized  that  she 
was  not  the  new  girl  with  the  red  hair  and  the  squint 
that  was  expected  here.  But,  happen  what  might,  she 
\vould  not  usurp  the  place,  coveted,  perhaps,  by  some 
one  as  much  in  need  of  a  home  as  she  herself.  So  when, 
at  this  moment  she  heard  a  step  in  an  adjoining  room, 
and  the  master  of  the  house  made  his  appearance  under 
the  portiere  in  the  doorway,  she  arose  hastily  to  meet 
him,  with  the  little  one  still  in  her  arms. 

"From  your  little  daughter  I  understand  that  you  were 
looking  for  a  new  girl  today  and  I  must  tell  you  that  I 
am  not  the  one  you  were  expecting.  I  started  out  only 
today  to  hunt  work  and  yours  was  the  first  place  I  came 
to.  You  were  led  into  the  mistake  by  the  color  of  my 


60          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

hair  and  I  discovered  it  only  through  the  child's  close 
observance  of  my  eyes — which  are  not  crossed." 

She  said  it  hastily  but  in  all  sincerity;  the  man's  firm 
lips,  however,  relaxed  into  something  of  a  smile  as  he 
answered:  "The  fact  is  that  my  little  girl's  grand-aunt 
had  promised  to  send  us  a  new  girl  today,  but  as  she  did 
not  come,  you  are  welcome  to  stay  if  the  place  suits  you. 
Bridget,  the  cook,  has  gone  to  town  to  make  some  pur 
chases;  when  she  returns  she  will  instruct  you  in  your 
duties  and  tell  you  what  wages  you  get." 

She  felt  so  thankful ;  should  she  make  him  a  courtesy 
and  say  "thank  you,  sir"?  Would  it  be  the  proper  thing 
to  do  in  her  position?  Fortunately  he  had  already  left 
the  room  before  she  had  decided;  and  she  hugged  the 
little  one  closer  to  her  breast,  to  express  her  gratitude. 

Not  long  afterward  she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  out 
side,  and  after  a  flutter  of  terror  which  she  could  not 
quell,  the  tones  of  a  cheerful,  resolute  voice  convinced 
her  that  there  were  no  grounds  for  fear  of  pursuit,  and 
after  a  short  conversation  held  outside  by  this  voice  and 
the  one  already  known  to  her,  a  tall,  stout  Irish  girl,  with 
dark  eyes  and  kindliness  written  all  over  her  wholesome 
face  and  figure,  came  into  the  room. 

Still,  Annie  could  not  but  feel  the  searching  glance 
upon  her  face  as  she  addressed  her. 

"And  ye're  not  the  gerrul  Mrs.  Ault  sent  here,  Mr. 
Winters  does  be  telling  me.  Well — ye're  welcome  here, 
for  I  need  a  help,  and  the  children  is  hanging  to  yez  as 
if  they  liked  yez.  All  but  Bobby;  and  I'll  warrant  he  ate 
his  little  brother's  dinner  after  I  went  away  and  has 
never  left  his  chair  nor  his  Noah's  Ark  since." 


HER  RED  HAIR  61 

And  sure  enough,  Master  Bobby  was  back  in  his  chair 
by  the  low  table  set  out  with  the  animals ;  and  the  laugh 
they  had  at  his  expense  seemed  to  establish  friendly 
relations  between  the  two  women  at  once. 

"You  stay  here  wid  the  childers  till  I  call  ye  to  sup 
per,"  Bridget  decided  to  Annie's  delight.  "You  must  be 
tired,  for  Mr.  Winters  says  you  walked  out  here  from 
the  cars ;  after  supper  we'll  settle  about  your  wages  and 
your  work."  She  pronounced  it  "wor-ruck,"  but  the 
sound  was  pleasant  to  Annie's  ears,  all  the  same. 

Bobby,  however,  was  not  so  firmly  settled  in  his  seat 
as  his  friend  had  supposed  him  to  be ;  and  after  a  series 
of  preliminary  sniffs  and  snuffles  he  broke  out  into  one 
of  his  most  terrible  yells,  just  as  his  father  entered  the 
room  from  the  hallway. 

"What  is  it,  Bobby?  Trixy,  my  girl,  what  does  he 
want?  Get  it  for  him — quick!"  The  resignation  in  his 
tones,  and  the  alacrity  with  which  he  moved  forward, 
told  a  story  that  Annie  understood  at  once;  as  the  new 
girl,  however,  she  could  do  nothing  just  yet  but  wait  to 
see  what  part  she  was  expected  to  take  in  these  little 
domestic  dramas.  Her  presence  was  entirely  overlooked 
by  both  father  and  daughter  in  their  anxiety  to  pro 
pitiate  the  household  tyrant. 

"He  wants  his  marbles,"  Trixy  announced  breathlessly, 
after  listening  intently  to  the  disconnected  words  shot 
out  between  yells,  and  already  she  was  diving  for  marbles 
under  chairs,  lounge  and  table. 

But  the  cherub  yelled  all  the  louder  when  she  laid 
them  down  before  him  and  Trixy,  as  interpreter,  soon 
informed  her  father  that  he  wanted  his  twa  big  marbles. 


62          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"But  where  are  they?"  he  asked  apprehensively;  and 
Trixy,  after  a  hasty  survey  of  the  room,  with  unerring 
instinct  struck  out  for  the  piano,  climbed  from  the  chair 
to  the  table,  from  the  table  to  the  shining  surface  of  the 
instrument,  pulled  the  tall  hat  with  the  crepe  band 
toward  her  and  simply  overturned  it.  With  a  little 
scream  Annie  covered  her  ears  as  two  large  sized  marbles 
rolled  out  and  woke  rumbling  echoes  inside  of  the  piano 
before  they  dropped  to  the  floor.  No  one  heeded  her  and 
it  was  only  when  both  marbles  were  placed  in  the  fat  fist 
of  Master  Bobby  that  he  stopped  his  roaring,  and  his 
humble  slaves  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

In  the  meantime  Paul,  the  young  German  who  was 
coachman,  butler  and  stable-man  on  the  place,  besides 
being  Bridget's  aid  and  factotum,  was  helping  in  the 
kitchen  after  his  outside  work  had  been  performed.  His 
patroness  was  entertaining  him  with  a  description  of 
their  new  girl  with  the  red  hair. 

"She  was  never  brought  up  to  service,"  she  concluded 
in  her  resolute,  decided  manner,  "but  she's  a  good  gerrul, 
and  I  don't  care  where  she  comes  from." 

"Now,  Bridget,"  her  young  aid  protested,  "you  take 
strange  people  into  the  house  like  that,  and  we'll  all  wake 
up  some  morning  with  our  throats  cut." 

"And  sure  and  waren't  ye  a  stranger  yerself,  ye  young 
Dutchman,  when  ye  came  here  asking  for  work?" 
Bridget  turned  the  tables  on  him.  And  Paul  on  the  in 
stant  changed  back  into  the  German  peasant-boy  of  three 
years  ago,  setting  his  right  hand  slowly  in  motion 
scratching  among  the  shock  of  yellow  hair  behind  his 
capacious  ear. 


HER  RED  HAIR  63 

But  peace  was  soon  restored,  although  Bridget,  to 
punish  her  naughty  protege  a  little  more,  seated  Annie 
at  the  table  when  supper  was  ready,  and  ordered  Paul 
to  do  the  waiting  instead  of  herself.  For  the  life  of  him 
he  could  see  nothing  about  the  woman  with  the  colorless 
face,  the  downcast  eyes  and  the  hard  twisted  red  hair, 
to  become  enthused  over;  especially  as  she  wrore  a  dress 
so  shabby  that  Bridget  would  not  have  worn  it  in  the 
kitchen  even ;  and  the  boy  told  the  honest  truth  when 
he  reported  that  he  did  not  think  her  anything  like  so 
good  looking  as  Bridget  herself. 

"You  don't  understand,  me  b'y,"  Bridget  informed 
him,  mollified  in  spite  of  herself  by  the  compliment,  "it's 
a  heart  broken  look  she  has  in  her  eyes,  though  I  grant 
ye  she's  not  a  beauty." 

The  head  of  the  house  was  the  only  one  who  had  no 
comment  to  make,  there  was  simply  a  great  relief  writ 
ten  on  his  face  when  supper  passed  without  any  outbreak 
on  Master  Bobby's  part.  And  when  after  leaving  the 
table,  he  stopped  by  the  crib  of  his  youngest  and  found 
him  asleep  with  a  smile  on  his  face,  the  wrinkle  between 
his  eyes  seemed  less  deep,  and  he  took  one  of  the  lamps 
and  retired  to  his  own  room,  without  so  much  as  a  look 
at  the  new  girl  who  had  taken  such  a  load  off  his  shoul 
ders  and  his  mind. 

But  Bridget  made  amends  by  the  cheerful  smile  she 
bestowed  upon  her  when,  having  put  her  charges  to  bed, 
she  came  back  to  the  kitchen  for  further  orders. 

"Well,  Annie/'  she  said,  "if  ye'll  just  take  charge  of 
the  children  and  kind  o'  straighten  things  out  around  the 
house  a  bit,  I'll  (she  spoke  it  Oill)  excuse  you  from 
kitchen  work  at  present.  That  is,"  she  added  hastily, 


64          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"I  mean  for  you  to  straighten  and  sweep  up  this  side  of 
the  house" — indicating  with  a  toss  of  her  head  the  rooms 
Annie  had  seen  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon ;  "the  other 
part  is  not  in  use  now." 

Annie  expressed  her  readiness  to  obey  orders,  and 
then  asked  if  Bridget  did  not  want  her  to  put  the  feathers 
on  the  bonnet  which  the  kitchen  queen  was  trying  to 
decorate  becomingly. 

"Dade  thin;  ye  may  if  ye  wish,"  was  the  ready  re 
sponse;  and  in  a  little  while  there  was  built  up  a  thing 
of  beauty  which  Bridget  went  into  raptures  over,  and 
Paul  himself  was  forced  to  admire. 

"Why — you're  a  milliner,  Annie;  a  fine  one — that's 
what  ye  are." 

"Yes,"  the  girl  assented  after  just  a  second's  hesitation, 
"I  have  learned  the  trade." 

"And  can  ye  make  ridicules  too?"  asked  Bridget  ex 
citedly.  "For  I  can  go  to  town  now,  since  you've  come, 
and  to  church  of  a  Sunday,  and  a  body  do  like  to  look 
respectable.  I've  got  a  beautiful  piece  of  velvet  that  I'd 
like  made  up  into  one  av  them  handbags  that  the  ladies 
do  be  carrying  now ;  do  ye  just  stop  till  I  get  it." 

And  digging  a  bunch  of  keys  out  of  some  mysterious 
corner  of  the  kitchen  cupboard,  she  vanished  into  the 
prohibited  side  of  the  house,  it  seemed  to  Annie,  to  re 
appear,  after  a  time,  with  what  proved  to  be  a  piece  of 
plush  of  the  exquisite  blue  of  the  German  cornflowers 
and  of  finest  texture. 


HER  RED  HAIR  65 

"That,"  decided  Annie  at  once,  "should  be  embroidered 
in  silk,  with  wheat  ears  just  the  shade  of  the  wheat 
among  which  cornflowers  grow  in  Germany." 

At  last  Paul  was  moved. 

"Oh !  You  have  seen  them — the  blue  cornflowers  and 
the  red  poppies  in  the  wheat  fields  in  my  country." 

"Yes,"  she  assented  in  some  confusion,  "I  was  there — 
with — with  a  family.  I  have  no  silk,  Bridget,"  she  con 
tinued,  "but  if  you  let  Paul  pick  out  the  right  color  some 
time  when  you  are  in  town,  I  will  work  it  for  you." 

And  the  three  parted  for  the  night,  the  best  of  friends 
and  with  the  utmost  confidence  in  each  other. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  fog  of  the  previous  night  had  vanished;  the  sun 
shone  brightly  when  Annie  awoke  and  she  could  not  but 
listen  to  the  blithe  singing  of  the  birds  as  she  dressed 
hurriedly  before  "the  childers"  should  awaken.  Paul  and 
Bridget  had  had  their  breakfast  when  she  reached  the 
kitchen;  but  Bridget  expressed  not  the  least  displeasure 
at  the  tardy  appearance  of  the  new  girl. 

"Oi'm  glad  enough  to  get  the  childers  off  me  hands," 
said  she  with  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  placed  breakfast  on 
the  table  for  them. 

Nevertheless  Annie  felt  that  she  had  been  remiss  in 
her  duties;  she  ought  to  have  done  her  sweeping  before 
the  children  were  up  and  she  was  anxious  to  make 
amends.  She  had  a  happy  knack  of  furnishing  the  chil 
dren  with  employment  and  amusement  by  turns  and  she 
left  them  contented  on  the  kitchen  porch  while  she  seized 
broom  and  dust-pan  to  go  to  work. 

Beginning  at  the  front  door,  she  swept  the  wide  hall 
through  which  she  had  come  yesterday,  and  saw  now 
what  she  had  not  noticed  then — two  large,  dark,  hand 
some  doors  opposite  to  the  plain,  low  door  by  which  she 
had  entered  the  room.  There  was  something  weird  and 
gloomy  about  this  interdicted  portion  of  the  house, 
though ;  and  she  was  glad  when  she  had  reached  the  door 
at  the  end  of  the  hall,  which  she  might  open  and  see  day 
light  and  sunshine  again,  she  hoped.  She  was  not  dis 
appointed;  but  so  thoroughly  startled  that  she  dropped 
broom  and  dust-pan  with  a  crash  and  a  clatter,  and 


HER  RED  HAIR  67 

leaned  forward  with  clasped  hands  over  the  balustrade 
running  around  the  gallery  or  veranda  on  which  the  door 
opened.  She  was  looking  straight  before  her  into  a  realm 
of  enchantment — a  scene  from  fairyland,  unexpected  as 
it  was  bewildering. 

A  second  look  convinced  her  that  it  was  a  spacious 
green-house  into  which  she  was  looking,  a  little  distance 
off,  but  so  arranged,  its  tall,  wide  doors  thrown  back, 
that  the  eye  looked  across  billows  of  brilliant-hued 
flowers  into  a  sea  of  green.  As  if  drawn  by  a  magnet 
she  tip-toed  down  the  steps,  across  a  pavement  of  great, 
square  flags,  and  into  the  portal  of  the  conservatory, 
utterly  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  the  pavement  was 
bounded,  on  her  right,  by  the  continuation  of  the  gallery, 
on  which  gave  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  of  Mr.  Win 
ter's  room  and  a  window  of  the  kitchen.  On  her  left  the 
flagged  walk  was  bordered  by  a  strip  of  velvety  lawn, 
on  the  other  side  of  which  could  be  seen  the  driveway. 
Between  the  lawn  and  the  conservatory  stood  an  airy, 
graceful  structure,  half  garden-pavilion,  half  office  room ; 
and  the  portico  in  front  was  built  to  extend  out  far 
enough  to  secure  shade  in  summer  and  shelter  in  rainy 
weather  for  the  space  in  front  of  the  office. 

But  Annie  saw  nothing  of  these  details;  her  hungry 
eyes  feasted  once  more.  Then  all  of  grace  and  beauty 
had  not  fled  from  the  life  whose  threads  she  had  yester 
day  severed  so  determinedly  from  the  past.  The  charm 
of  what  she  saw  before  her  would  reconcile  her  to  her  lot 
as  nothing  else  could.  A  great  wave  of  thankfulness 
surged  through  her  heart  as  she  stood  spellbound  a 
moment,  before  venturing  farther  into  the  glass-house. 
The  stately  bells  of  the  gloxinias  seemed  to  nod  her  a 


68          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

welcome ;  the  royal  coloring  of  the  fuchias,  the  soft  pink 
of  the  begonias,  the  intense  dark  blue  of  the  salvia  patens 
hovering,  like  a  bird  of  rich  plumage,  above  the  rest  of 
the  flowers — all  were  as  heaven-sent  gifts  to  her.  A 
stephanotis,  climbing  along  the  glass  roof,  and  filling  all 
the  air  with  its  heavy  perfume,  intertwined  cordially 
with  the  scarlet  passi  flora;  but  its  fairer,  more  delicate 
sister,  robed  in  purest  white,  met  the  rare  waxy  blossoms 
of  the  Hoya  carnosa  in  its  journey  upward  from  the 
earth.  In  the  center  of  the  rotunda  beyond,  and  in  front 
of  the  wall  of  ferns,  which  formed  a  half  circle,  rose  a 
clump  of  rocks  overgrown  with  cactus,  bearing  flowers 
of  the  most  fantastic  shapes  and  the  most  glowing  hues, 
and  the  silver  shower  thrown  by  the  fountain,  seemed  to 
borrow  the  colors  of  these  tropic  blooms  as  the  sun  fell 
through  the  glass  dome  and  lighted  up  the  spray. 

Little  did  she  heed  that  what  she  gazed  upon  had  con 
sumed  enormous  sums  of  money  in  its  construction  and 
gathering  together.  For  it  was  the  pride  of  John  Win 
ters  to  exhibit  to  the  people  from  the  older  States,  who 
came  to  visit  his  nurseries  as  one  of  the  show-places  of 
Central  California,  these  ferns,  natives  of  the  cool,  shady 
canyons  in  the  mountain-chain  within  view  of  his  gar 
dens,  as  also  the  collection  of  the  great,  ugly,  ungainly 
cacti  with  their  wonderfully  brilliant  flowers — which  had 
been  gathered  up  from  the  dry,  arid  desertland  of  South 
ern  California. 

How  long  she  had  been  there  she  never  knew ;  but  she 
tore  herself  away  at  last  and  tiptoed  back,  daring  to  look 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  Snatching  up  broom 
and  dust-pan,  she  continued  her  labor,  happily  ignorant 
that  two  pair  of  eyes  had  watched  her — Bridget  from  the 


HER  RED  HAIR  69 

kitchen  window  and  Mr.  Winters  from  his  office.  The 
former  with  evident  satisfaction,  as  if  this  act  of  the  new 
girl  confirmed  a  theory  in  regard  to  her;  the  latter  with 
a  certain  degree  of  professional  pride,  sated,  however, 
with  constant  gratification.  Bridget  drew  her  head  back 
from  the  window,  and  her  employer  left  his  office  by  a 
door  that  led  directly  into  the  grounds. 

With  a  brighter  look  in  her  eyes  than  had  shone  there 
for  many  a  long  day,  Annie  continued  to  shake  rugs  and 
dust  woodwork,  as  though  her  life  depended  on  this  task. 
Suddenly  she  heard  wheels  crumpling  on  the  gravel  in 
the  drive-way,  and  her  first  impulse  was  to  fly  upstairs 
and  "peek"  through  the  window  in  her  room.  But  the 
vehicle  was  already  abreast  of  her,  and  she  felt  no  fear 
either  of  the  old  white  horse  or  the  two  women  it  was 
drawing  along  in  an  equally  ancient  buggy.  The  "whip" 
proved  to  be  an  old  lady  with  sharp  nose  and  piercing 
eyes ;  and  her  passenger  a  raw-boned  female  with  orange 
hair  and  green  eyes  looking  daggers  at  each  other.  Be 
fore  the  old  lady  could  alight,  Bridget  was  on  the  ground, 
with  Cobby  on  her  arm.  Bobby  held  fast  by  her  good 
right  hand ;  Trixy  kept  well  behind  her. 

"I've  brought  the  new  girl,  Bridget,"  said  the  old  lady 
affably,  with  a  motion  toward  the  other  occupant  of  the 
buggy. 

A  large-sized  wink  from  Bridget's  eye  had  summoned 
Annie  close  to  her,  and  she  now  drew  Cobby  to  her, 
saying  in  her  most  decided  manner  as  she  did  so : 
"This  is  our  new  girl,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Ault." 
"Yes,"  continued  Bridget,  "she  came  here  yesterday. 
Here,  Annie,  take  the  children  in  the  garden;  Paul  will 
show  you  the  new  roses.    Trixy,  you  point  out  the  way." 


70          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

She  had  flung  an  old  hat  after  her,  much  as  she  had 
flung  Cobby  into  her  arms,  and  with  a  "shoo-ing"  wave 
of  the  arms  she  directed  the  older  children  to  go  with  her. 

Annie,  her  heart  beating'  in  her  throat,  heard  only  a 
contemptuous  "Ah!"  after  the  expressive  "Oh!"  and 
dreading,  she  hardly  knew  what,  she  started  off,  piloted 
by  Trixy  as  usual. 

Paul  was  not  far  off,  and  threw  down  his  spade  at 
once. 

"Did  your  aunt  come?"  he  asked  Trixy,  to  which  this 
precise  young  lady  replied : 

"She's  turn;  she's  my  dandaunt."  And  seeing  her 
father  in  a  distant  field,  where  a  number  of  men  were 
digging  up  trees  and  packing  them  for  transportation, 
she  was  about  to  raise  her  voice  and  call  him,  when  Paul 
quickly  laid  his  broad  paw  over  her  face,  warning  her  to 
"stop  her  noise,  Bridget  said  so."  That  settled  it,  and 
the  young  lady  followed  silently  where  Paul  led  the  way. 

This  was  only  a  short  distance,  in  fact  it  was  the  out 
ward  curve  of  the  glass  wall  of  the  rotunda,  which  was 
followed  in  the  graceful  sweep  by  a  broad  border  of  roses. 
Roses  of  every  shade  and  tint  from  the  glowing  scarlet 
of  the  Jacqueminot,  the  velvet  of  the  Dusky  Creole,  to 
the  satin  sheen  of  the  pink  L,a  France  and  the  waxen 
white  of  the  Lamarque.  The  fawn  and  crimson  of  the 
Safrano;  the  deep  coppery  color  of  the  Richardson;  the 
more  delicate  yellow  tints  of  the  Salfatera — all  were 
there,  together  with  innumerable  roses  of  whose  names 
she  had  never  heard,  of  whose  beauty  she  had  never 
dreamed. 


HER  RED  HAIR  71 

"How  is  it  possible,"  she  asked  more  of  herself  than 
of  her  companion,  "It  is  barely  the  beginning  of  spring — 
and  all  these  roses  in  full  bloom." 

"That  don't  make  any  difference  in  California,"  Paul 
explained,  with  the  nonchalantly  proud  air  of  one  who 
held  a  controlling  interest  in  California  climate,  "the 
roses  always  bloom  with  us." 

And  Annie,  grateful  for  all  the  kindness  that  had  come 
to  her  so  unexpectedly,  wondered  if  the  roses  would  ever 
bloom  in  her  life  again. 

But  Paul  had  had  "one  ear  on  the  lookout"  as  Bridget 
would  have  said,  for  the  female  voices  that  rose  and  fell 
in  what  seemed  quite  a  lively  controversy,  held  on  the 
flag-pavement  in  front  of  the  long  gallery.  That  Mrs. 
Ault  did  not  cross  this  gallery  to  enter  the  house,  Paul 
felt  pretty  sure ;  so  when  the  voices  became  hushed  he 
led  Annie  quietly  back  to  the  house. 

Bridget  looked  ready  to  explode  with  wrath  as  she  sat 
vigorously  fanning  herself  with  the  check  apron  on  the 
veranda  steps. 

"O'll  tache  the  ould  beldame,  bedad,  comin'  'round  here 
to  boss  me.  Wants  me  to  remimber  that  Oi'm  only 
Bridget,  the  cook;  an'  shure  it's  proud  Oi  am  av  bein' 
that  same.  'Mistook  that  one  for  Marie  Jones/  siz  she." 
Bridget  puckered  up  her  generous  mouth  as  if  she  meant 
to  whistle,  in  her  effort  to  imitate  the  high,  thin  voice 
of  Mrs.  Ault.  "  'She's  got  red  hair,'  siz  Oi.  'Oh !  but 
Maria  Jones'  eyes  are  crossed/  siz  she.  "  'Well,  now,' 
sez  Oi,  'there's  no  positive  necessity  for  a  gerrul  to  be 
cross-eyed  that  lives  in  this  place.'  "  And  as  her  remarks 
had  been  addressed  to  her  as  much  as  to  Paul,  Annie 


72          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

agreed  cordially  that  red  hair  was  bad  enough  without 
the  addition  of  a  squint  in  the  eye. 

Though  Bridget's  rough  plumage  was  smoothed  out 
again,  she  did  not  forget  to  mention  the  incident  to  Mr. 
Winters  when  he  came  in ;  and  Annie  could  not  help  but 
notice  the  gloomy  look  on  his  face.  Annie,  however,  did 
not  find  one  spare  moment  to  speculate  on  the  cause  of 
the  gloom  and  trouble  written  on  her  employer's  face, 
nor  on  any  other  problem. 

Whenever  Cobby  was  asleep  or  "good,"  she  devoted 
herself  to  the  task  of  making  into  garments  for  the  chil 
dren  the  material  which  Bridget  had  bought  in  town  that 
day,  in  anticipation  of  the  new  girl's  coming.  Very  dili 
gent  and  conscientious  was  Annie,  and  more  thankful  to 
Bridget,  under  Providence,  than  she  dared  tell,  for  this 
place  she  had  found.  Early  and  late  she  worked,  spend 
ing  the  hours  after  the  children  had  been  put  to  bed,  in 
the  kitchen  with  Bridget  and  Paul,  sewing  or  embroider 
ing,  cheerful  always  and  joining  heartily  in  the  laugh 
which  Bridget  knew  so  well  to  turn  on  Paul.  But  Paul 
bore  no  ill  will  toward  her ;  on  the  contrary,  when  Annie 
had  finished  that  famous  reticule  he  was  the  first  to  go 
into  ecstacies  over  it.  When  he  had  bought  the  yellow 
silk  to  embroider  the  wheat  ears  with,  he  had  seen  some 
red  silk  the  exact  shade  of  the  wild  poppies  that  grew 
together  with  the  blue  cornflowers  in  the  wheat  fields 
in  his  Fatherland,  and  Annie  had  designed  and  embroid 
ered  these  too,  to  please  him.  The  young  Dutchman's 
eyes  sparkled  and  his  cheeks  glowed  while  contemplating 
the  work  when  it  was  finished. 


HER  RED  HAIR  73 

"Ach  Gott !  I  think  I  hear  the  lark  flying  up  from  the 
corn  field  now" — and  while  he  spoke  he  heard  the  joyous 
trill  of  the  bird  at  his  elbows. 

Annie's  eyes  kindled  for  a  moment,  and  she  was  happy 
again,  and  joyous  as  the  trill  she  sent  aloft,  but  even  as 
Bridget  and  the  boy  regarded  and  applauded  her,  the 
light  died  out  of  her  eyes  and  a  hopeless,  grieved  look 
crept  back  into  them  again. 

Bridget,  however,  had  carried  her  new  reticule  and 
bonnet  to  church  once  once,  before  Cobby  began  to  com 
plain  and  grow  weaker  day  by  day,  without  showing  any 
symptom  of  sickness  that  could  be  laid  hold  of  and  bat 
tled  against.  He  had  no  pain,  no  ache,  but  he  clung  to 
Annie  day  and  night,  and  fell  back  into  his  distressful 
way  of  wailing  if  ever  she  was  out  of  his  slight.  The 
physician  from  the  neighboring  burg,  who  had  known 
Cobby  from  the  hour  of  his  birth,  was  notified,  and  spent 
much  time  and  thought  on  his  little  patient's  case,  and 
at  last  hunted  up  Mr.  Winters  one  day  in  his  office  by  the 
greenhouse. 

"My  visits  will  do  no  good  here,"  he  declared.  "The 
child  is  ailing,  yes,  but  he  is  not  ill.  You  know,"  he  con 
tinued  slowly,  as  if  treading  on  delicate  ground,  "that 
Cobby's  case  is  a  little  peculiar,  and  that,  besides,  he  has 
not  from  the  hour  of  his  birth  really  had  the  care  and 
attention  needed — handicapped  as  the  poor  fellow  came 
into  the  world.  He  seems  to  feel — and  the  instincts  of  a 
child  are  unerring — that  he  has  found  someone  to  love 
him  and  nurse  him,  and  he  is  going  to  exact  the  care  now 
that  he  has  hitherto  always  lacked.  The  young  person 
you  have  on  the  place  here  is  patient  and  capable,  and 
little  Cobby  sticks  to  her  like  a  leech.  If  she  pulls  him 


74          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

through  he  will  be  stronger  than  before.  In  case  any 
alarming  symptoms  should  develop  you  had  better  let 
me  know ;  otherwise  your  son  is  in  good  hands." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  the  father  arose,  together  with 
the  Doctor,  promising  himself  to  say  a  word  of  thanks 
to  the  young  person  in  charge  of  the  child. 

So  far  he  had  not  taken  notice  whether  this  person 
was  young  or  old;  he  loved  his  children  dearly;  but, 
man-like,  he  had  so  enjoyed  this  season  of  exemption 
from  family  cares  that  he  had  been  entirely  satisfied 
with  Bridget's  assurance  of  their  well-being  under  the 
new  girl's  care. 

The  sun's  rays  fell  aslant  as  he  parted  with  Dr.  Bently 
at  the  gate,  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps  to  the  house. 
The  doors  were  all  open,  but  a  portiere  hung  across  the 
sitting-room,  and  he  entered  with  noiseless  step  for  fear 
of  rousing  the  patient  whom  the  Doctor  had  left  asleep. 
Standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  heavy  curtain,  his  gaze 
rested  for  a  moment  on  the  figure  coming  toward  his 
part  of  the  room,  for  the  face  of  the  woman  was  turned 
toward  the  window  through  which  broad  views  of  the 
foothills  of  the  Coast  Range  were  seen.  The  man  caught 
his  breath.  Was  that  their  new  red-headed  girl?  The 
hair  was  brown,  he  decided  first; — no — it  was  auburn 
there  was  no  denying  that ;  but  it  had  a  shimmer  of  gold 
where  the  sun  kissed  it  as  she  slowly  passed  the  window. 
The  hair  had  been  hurriedly  twisted  into  a  tight  knot, 
but  the  strands  escaping  here  and  there,  lay  in  curls  on 
neck  and  bosom.  The  face  was  colorless  save  for  the 
lips ;  and  under  the  dark  brows  and  lashes  it  was  natural 
to  look  for  the  brown  orbs  of  red-haired  people,  but  in 
stead  he  recognized  eyes  of  the  deepest  violet  blue,  with 


HER  RED  HAIR  75 

an  expression  in  them  of  one  who  has  been  grieved  and 
wounded  past  reconciliation  or  forgiveness. 

To  his  honor  we  will  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Winters 
felt  like  a  sneak-thief  while  making  these  observations, 
for  the  girl  did  not  at  once  discover  him ;  her  eyes  were 
still  dazzled  from  the  bright  light  falling  in  through  the 
window.  So  our  hero  advanced  boldly,  as  if  he  would 
have  relieved  her  of  the  burden  in  her  arms.  But  little 
Cobby,  his  head  resting  on  her  shoulder,  only  tightened 
the  hold  which  his  thin,  long  arms  had  about  her  neck, 
wailing  out  his  protest  against  his  father's  outstretched 
hands. 

"Is  he  not  becoming  too  much  of  a  burden  for  you?" 
he  inquired. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "Cobby  is  very  good ;  I  do  not  al 
ways  walk  around  with  him,  I  sit  by  the  window  a  good 
deal  of  the  time." 

"But  he  has  been  sick  now  for  so  long,"  he  urged ; 
"are  you  not  getting  tired  and  worn  out?  Who  would 
take  care  of  the  children  if  you  too  became  ill?" 

There  was  gratification  in  the  half  smile  that  passed 
over  her  face. 

"There  is  no  danger,"  she  assured  him.  "Bridget  has 
dispensed  me  from  all  other  work ;  and  Cobby  and  I  sleep 
late  into  the  morning." 

But  Cobby  felt  his  right  being  interfered  with,  and 
with  a  little  fretful  cry  he  urged  his  nurse  on.  The  father 
stood  by  the  window  undecided.  He  had  come  with  the 


76          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

intention  of  expressing  his  satisfaction  and  a  vague  idea 
of  promising  their  new  girl  an  increase  of  wages  for  her 
unflagging  devotion  to  the  sick  child.  But  how  could 
he?  So,  like  a  wise  man,  he  said  nothing,  and,  like  a 
gentleman,  he  bowed  to  Annie  as  he  withdrew ;  and  then 
hunted  up  Bridget. 

"Do  we  pay  that — that  girl  wages  enough?"  he  in 
quired  of  Bridget. 

"Dade  and  it's  not  the  high  wages  she's  after,"  said 
Bridget,  "it's  a  home  she's  wanting — don't  you  see!" 

"Oh!  she  told  you — did  she?"  her  employer  asked  her 
with  more  interest  than  he  thought  he  felt. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Bridget  with  fine  contempt 
for  a  man's  blindness.  "Haven't  ye  eyes  to  see?"  She 
pronounced  it  "oyes"  but  her  master  always  understood 
her;  so  it  could  not  have  been  that  that  made  him  look 
so  puzzled  for  a  moment.  But  Bridget  turned  to  the 
stove  to  baste  the  meat,  and  Mr.  Winters  felt  that  this 
was  equal  to  turning  him  out,  so  he  went 


CHAPTER  V. 

When  Cobby  had  recovered  so  far  that  Annie  could 
resume  her  ordinary  duties  about  the  house,  Bridget  by 
some  queer  reasoning  of  her  own  felt  that  she  had  earned 
a  holiday,  and  she  planned  "a  whole  day  off,"  to  be  spent 
with  some  friends  at  Centreton,  the  next  village. 

In  the  course  of  preparations  Bridget  said:  "There, 
Annie,  me  gerrul,  but  this  ridicule  is  too  foine  to  be 
packin'  a  bit  o'  cake  into  me  friend's  children/' 

And  Annie,  with  the  air  of  Archimedes  proposing  to 
lift  the  earth  out  of  its  orbit  if  any  one  would  furnish 
a  convenient  standing-place  outside,  made  answer: 
"Give  me  the  cloth,  and  I'll  make  you  another  reticule." 

Again  Bridget  dived  down  among  the  cups  and  plates 
for  the  mysterious  bunch  of  keys  which  seemed  to  un 
lock  the  still  more  mysterious  other  side  of  the  house. 
A  bundle  of  silk  patches  was  brought  up  as  trophy  this 
time,  and  a  bunch  of  artificial  flowers  which  Annie  pro 
nounced  too  fine  for  the  hat  which  Bridget  wanted  them 
to  grace.  A  compromise  was  made  to  the  effect  that 
Annie  trim  the  old  hat  with  silk  to  match  the  reticule, 
the  fine  flowers  to  go  on  another  new  bonnet  which 
Bridget  was  to  buy  during  her  visit  to  town. 

Still,  it  must  be  admitted  that  although  "bunnits"  and 
"ridicules"  constituted  the  Irishwoman's  chief  pleasures 
in  life,  her  ruling  passion  was  to  bestow  patronage.  And 
having  patronized  Paul  into  general  favor  she  now  felt 
it  her  duty  to  patronize  Annie. 


78          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"I'll  be  giving  the  gerrul  a  chance  tomorrow,"  she  in 
formed  Mr.  Winters  on  the  eve  of  the  day  off,  "to  show 
what  she  can  do.  I'll  be  after  having  Paul  take  me  to 
town  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  I'll  find  some 
one  to  ride  back  with  me  as  far  as  the  Corners,  and  from 
there  I  can  just  walk  home.  I'm  wanting  a  whole  day 
off,  and  I'll  be  getting  it  that  way." 

And  a  glorious  sight  was  Bridget  in  the  morning,  with 
new  hand-bag  stuffed  with  cake,  new-trimmed  hat  and 
ulster  made  smart  by  Annie's  deft  fingers. 

"Now,  me  gerrul,  I'm  giving  you  a  chance;  let's  see 
what  you're  made  of,"  she  said  as  she  climbed  into  the 
cart  with  Paul.  "Do  everything  just  as  I  told  ye  and 
ye'll  have  no  trouble." 

But  she  could  not  do  just  as  she  had  been  told  to,  and 
she  did  have  trouble.  The  day  was  so  perfect,  the  air  so 
clear,  the  sun  so  bright,  that  everybody  with  his  wife 
and  daughter,  owning  a  ranch  within  a  radius  of  twenty 
miles,  seemed  to  have  decided  that  this  was  just  the  time 
to  visit  the  great  Nursery,  to  select  trees  for  this  year's 
planting,  or  to  contract  for  the  next  year's  supply.  Not 
only  that  Mr.  Winters  was  kept  from  a  trip  that  he  had 
to  make  into  the  neighborhood,  but  Paul  too,  upon  his 
return  was  immediately  set  to  work  to  make  up  the  huge 
bouquets  which  he  so  hated  to  see  the  women  carry  off 
out  of  the  conservatory.  And  these  same  women  in 
vaded  the  house  and  the  kitchen,  though  Mr.  Winters 
had  anticipated  their  desire  for  water  to  drink  and  chairs 
to  rest  in,  on  the  lawn  by  the  green  house.  It  became 
embarrassing  to  Annie;  she  was  only  the  hired  girl  and 
could  not  take  it  upon  herself  to  ask  them  intcTthe  house ; 


HER  RED  HAIR  79 

and  her  morning's  work  lay  untouched  while  answering 
questions  and  pointing  out  directions. 

When  the  last  wagon-load  of  visitors  vanished  through 
the  tall  gateway,  Annie  lifted  little  Cobby  from  the  baby 
carriage  where  he  had  been  "good"  all  morning,  kissed 
him,  fed  him  and  laid  him  back  again  before  beginning 
preparations  for  a  hasty  lunch  to  set  before  Mr.  Winters 
and  Paul.  It  was  well  for  Annie  that  the  ranch  hands 
and  gardeners  were  boarded  at  the  house  of  the  foreman, 
Mr.  Carter.  Trixy,  helpful  and  housewifely,  did  a  thou 
sand  little  things  with  the  best  of  intentions,  while  Bobby 
sat  through  it  all,  unmoved  and  untouched  at  his  little 
table,  which  had  been  placed  for  the  summer  on  the 
flag-pavement  close  to  the  glass  front  of  his  father's  of 
fice.  As  usual  the  inmates  of  Noah's  Ark  were  drawn 
up  in  line  before  him  and  if  their  ranks  were  less  com 
pact  now,  one  hardly  noticed  the  deficiency — the  table 
was  so  well  covered  with  orange-husks,  raisin-stems  and 
nut-shells.  He  had  devoted  himself  so  manfully  to  the 
stowing  away  of  "California's  choicest  products,"  that  it 
was  doubtful  whether  he  had  breath  enough  left  to  call 
for  more.  Still,  as  a  matter  of  form  his  father  brought 
him  to  the  table  with  him,  where  he  astonished  them 
all  by  the  quantities  of  solid  food  he  packed  on  top  of  the 
tid-bits  he  had  laid  in  for  a  foundation. 

After  lunch,  the  dishes  washed  and  replaced  where 
Bridget  liked  them,  alone  with  the  children,  Annie  felt 
justified  in  retiring  to  her  room  after  seating  Cobby  in 
his  little  chair  on  the  lawn,  where  Trixy  was  busy  gath 
ering  flowers  for  the  "little  begger's"  delectation.  She 
felt  justified,  too,  in  owning  to  a  slight,  a  very  slight 
headache,  and  in  loosening  the  heavy  coils  of  her  bur- 


80          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

densome  hair.  With  all  her  senses  on  the  alert  to  catch 
the  first  indication  of  a  change  in  the  calm  atmosphere 
now  surrounding  Trixy  and  her  charge  she  began  to 
brush  the  shining,  wavy  mass  of  hair  that  enveloped  her 
like  a  mantle,  feeling  the  pain  grow  less  as  soon  as  her 
head  was  relieved  from  the  tightly  twisted  roll  into 
which  she  had  persistently  squeezed  her  hair  ever  since 
she  had  been  in  her  new  home. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning  Cobby's  cries  of  dis 
tress  and  fright  broke  on  her  ears,  and  flinging  the  brush 
aside  she  flew  to  the  child's  rescue,  crying  as  she  ran. 

"Trixy,  Trixy !  Don't  hurt  Cobby— poor  little  Cobby—" 
and  catching  him  to  her,  his  long,  thin  arms  stretched 
out  beseechingly,  were  soon  clinging  around  her  neck, 
and  she  soothed  him  into  quiet  calling  him  "Annie's 
own  little  Cobby,"  and  brushing  away  the  ugly  beetle 
which  his  sister  had  evidently  pressed  upon  him,  to  his 
great  terror. 

"Naughty  Trixy !"  she  exclaimed,  "how  can  you  fright 
en  your  little  brother  so.  Come  now  and  carry  this  hor 
rid  bug  away  from  here ;  clear  away  from  the  grass-plot, 
throw  it  into  the  road  there."  She  turned  to  see  that  the 
order  was  carried  out  and  stood  face  to  face  with  Mr. 
Winters. 

She  grew  hot,  and  her  eyes  darkened  with  an  inex 
plicable  feeling  of  anger  against  him. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon — but  I  thought  you  were  away, 
or — or  I  should  not — should  not — ."  She  had  put  the 
child  gently  back  into  its  chair,  and  hastily  imprisoning 
her  flowing  hair  with  her  hands,  she  turned  to  flee,  when 
the  child's  cries  brought  her  back,  with  a  fresh  deter 
mination  written  on  her  face.  About  to  pick  him  up  out 


HER  RED  HAIR  81 

of  his  chair  to  carry  him  with  her,  Mr.  Winters'  calm 
voice  suddenly  put  an  end  to  her  endeavors. 

"Leave  him  where  he  is,  Annie,"  he  said  kindly,  "and 
never  mind  your  hair.  No,  I  was  not  away,"  he  con 
tinued,  "I  was  detained  just  as  I  was  ready  to  start;  so  I 
remained.  But  as  to  your  hair" — he  smiled  as  he  went 
on  pleasantly,  "there  is  no  apology  needed.  My  little 
girl  is  evidently  much  pleased  with  it,  to  judge  from  the 
way  she  is  making  free  with  it." 

Annie  murmured  something  about  having  had  a  head 
ache,  to  which  he  replied,  "That  is  not  surprising,  from 
the  way  you  twist  your  hair  up  into  that  ugly  wad  you 
make  of  it." 

Annie  took  no  notice  of  his  answer;  perhaps  because 
Trixy  had  succeeded  in  disentangling  two  strands  of 
her  hair,  which  she  held  in  her  hands  like  lines,  shaking 
and  pulling  them,  clucking  with  her-  tongue  and  calling 
out: 

"Ge-up,  So'l-Top ;  get  up  here,  So'l-Top !" 

"My  daughter  is  taking  great  liberties  with  your  'flow 
ing  locks/  "  laughed  Mr.  Winters,  "she  must  have  driven 
this  'unruly  steed'  before." 

And  Annie  explained  that  always,  at  some  time  during 
the  course  of  the  day,  she  gave  way  to  her  desire  to  let 
her  hair  hang  loose,  if  for  ever  so  short  a  period ;  and  as 
she  generally  had  the  children  in  her  room  with  her, 
Trixy  had  gotten  a  habit  of  playing  horse  with  her — 
which  harmed  no  one,  and  which  they  both  enjoyed. 

"What  does  she  call  her  horse?"  Mr.  Winters  inquired. 
"No  doubt  you  suggested  a  name  to  her." 

"Yes ;  an  appropriate  one :  Sorrel  Top.  But  she  can 
not  pronounce  it  plainly  as  yet." 


82          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Sorrel  Top!"  he  repeated  much  amused:  "You  do 
not  seem  to  be  proud  of  the  color  of  your  hair." 

"No;"  a  humorous  smile  flitted  over  her  face.  "My 
stepmother  had  three  black-haired  daughters,  and  I  was 
impressed  with  the  misfortune  of  possessing  'a  shock  of 
red  hair'  quite  early  in  life."  There  was  a  ring  of  bitter 
ness  in  her  voice  as  she  ended,  and  the  old  grieved  look 
crept  back  into  her  eyes  again. 

Trixy  had  grown  tired  of  driving  a  steed  that  would 
not  "gee-up,"  and  to  poor  Cobby's  horror  had  picked  up 
the  beetle  from  the  dust  and  had  once  more  laid  it  in  his 
lap.  Together  with  the  little  beggar's  outcry,  there 
sounded  a  smart  slap  on  Trixy's  hand,  which  this  young 
lady  accepted  with  the  utmost  composure.  Again  Mr. 
Winters  laughed,  and  Annie  for  a  second  was  covered 
with  confusion,  then  she  said  stoutly. 

"I  am  sorry  if  you  disapprove  of  it,  but  it  makes  my 
blood  boil  to  have  the  helpless  child  frightened  out  of  its 
wits." 

"You  did  quite  right,  Annie,"  he  answered;  "but  Trixy 
had  some  slight  excuse  for  picking  up  everything  in  the 
shape  of  bugs  and  beetles  that  she  meets.  I  think  you 
will  find  some  where  among  her  belongings,  a  butterfly- 
net  of  the  most  approved  pattern,  and  moreover  you  need 
not  be  surprised  if  she  should  some  day  bring  in  a  snake 
or  two  for  your  inspection  and  acceptance.  You  see, 
while  my  uncle,  the  old  Herr  Jakob  Auf  der  Weise,  was 
visiting  us,  there  was  nothing  that  so  delighted  him  as 
the  knack  she  had  for  finding  and  capturing  bugs  and 
beetles  for  his  collections  and  the  praise  and  pettings  she 
got  from  him  have  kindled  an  unquenchable  ardor  in  her 
breast  for  the  pursuit  of  her  entomological  studies  under 


HER  RED  HAIR  83 

difficulties.    For  it  is  not  the  first  time  that  Trixy  has  had 
her  fingers  slapped  for  the  same  offense." 

"A  martyr  in  the  cause  of  science  at  her  early  age? 
She  should  be  encouraged  really ;  and  I  will  arrange  a 
little  case  for  her  specimens,  if  she  will  only  not  molest 
Cobby  with  her  horrid  catches/'  Annie  promised  readily. 

"It  is  mistaken  kindness  on  her  part,  I  am  sure;  but 
none  of  us  mortals  are  free  from  erring  in  our  love/'  If 
there  had  been  bitterness  in  Annie's  tones  awhile  ago 
when  she  spake  of  her  red  hair;  the  sadness  that  sounded 
in  the  words  of  the  tall,  strong  man  was  no  less  profound. 
Involuntarily  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  her  em 
ployer — hardly  a  handsome  face,  but  with  energy  and 
self-respect  written  on  it  though  not  devoid  of  a  softer 
expression. 

Perhaps  the  desire  to  dispel  the  gloom  on  his  face 
prompted  her  to  say: 

"The  gentleman  you  mentioned  must  be  the  same 
whom  Bridget  speaks  of  as  old  Rev.  Afterwe's;  and  she 
feels  herself  half-German,  I  think,  when  she  pronounces 
the  name." 

Mr.  Winters  laughed  heartily;  but  Annie,  suddenly 
recollecting  herself,  took  Cobby  in  her  arms  and  in  em 
barrassment  badly  concealed  she  declared  that  Bridget 
had  bidden  her  have  the  fire  lighted  and  the  oven  heated 
for  her  baking,  by  the  time  she  got  home. 

"And  I  am  paid  such  very  good  wages/'  she  continued, 
"that  I  am  anxious  to  give  satisfaction  so  as  to  keep  my 
place." 


84          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

He  looked  up  in  bewilderment  a  moment  then  the 
wrinkle  deepened  between  his  brows  and  he  said  coldly: 

"By  all  means  girl,"  and  turning  on  his  heel  he  re-en 
tered  his  office. 

When  Bridget  returned,  the  fire  was  lighted  and  the 
oven  hot;  but  she  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  make  use  of 
either.  As  everything  in  this  house  seemed  incongru 
ous,  it  was  not  surprising  that  Mr.  Winters  should  come 
into  the  kitchen  for  the  mail-matter  which  Bridget  was 
supposed  to  have  brought.  Indeed,  in  many  matters 
Bridget  did  the  ordering  and  Mr.  Winters  the  obeying; 
and  as  far  as  Annie  could  see,  he  never  lost  by  either  in 
respect  or  comfort.  If,  for  instance,  Bridget  decided  that 
there  was  no  time  to  set  the  table  for  the  master  and 
"the  childers"  in  the  dining  room,  this  "master"  was  sim 
ply  told  to  come  into  the  kitchen,  where  the  table  was 
laid  for  the  master,  his  man-servant,  and  his  maid-ser 
vants,  as  also  for  his  children. 

"He's  the  easiest  man  to  do  for  that  you  ever  saw,  the 
master  is,"  Bridget  had  confided  to  Annie  some  time  ago. 
"He  never  grumbles;  and  he  do  be  satisfied  with  any 
thing  I  set  before  him." 

As  a  general  thing  Bridget  spoke  of  him  as  Mr.  Win 
ters;  though  sometimes  she  forgot  her  American  inde 
pendence  so  far  as  to  call  him  "the  master."  Paul,  how 
ever,  since  he  could  not  address  him  as  the  "gnadige 
Herr,"  referred  to  him  always  as  "the  boss." 

On  this  particular  evening  then,  Mr.  Winters  himself 
proposed  that  they  all  take  supper  in  the  kitchen,  to  which 
Bridget  agreed  instantly,  though  the  proposition  was 
made  before  she  had  her  bonnet  removed  or  her  newest 
hand-bag  in  safety  from  the  meddling  fingers  of  the  chil- 


HER  RED  HAIR  85 

dren.  There  was  an  ominous  flush  on  Bridget's  face,  and 
a  general  air  of  "spoiling  for  a  fight"  about  her,  which 
Annie  could  not  understand  and  which  filled  her  with 
great  apprehensions — to  be  increased  directly,  to  positive 
fear.  Taking  up  the  papers  which  Bridget  had  brought, 
Mr.  Winters  asked  from  sheer  force  of  habit  evidently. 

"No  letters,  Bridget?"  in  an  absent  way. 

"Sorry  a  letter,  sir?"  replied  Bridget,  punctiliously  po 
lite  in  her  own  estimation.  These  words,  however  quiet 
ly  spoken,  were  like  the  dam  that  breaks  suddenly;  and 
the  deluge  following  the  break  could  not  have  been  more 
angry  and  sweeping  than  the  long  repressed  wrrath  of 
Bridget. 

"No  sor,  no  letters,  sor,"  she  went  on,  "but  ye  don't 
seem  half  so  much  put  out  about  it  as  that  meddlin'  ould 
wig-stock  in  the  postoffice  whin  I  axed  her  for  the  mail. 
'No  letter/  sez  she,  with  her  pryin'  ould  eyes  a  squintin' 
at  me  new  bunnet,  'only  papers  today.  You  people  at 
the  Nursery  don't  get  many  letters  these  days;  what's 
the  matter  with  yez."  'Well,  mum/  sez  I,  quite  polite 
and  respectful  like,  'we  have  so  much  to  do  at  the  Nurs 
ery  mindin'  our  own  business  that  we  don't  get  toime  to 
write  letters — d'ye  see?'  'That's  hard,  particularly  for 
you/  sez  she,  a  smiling  through  them  false  teeth  of  hers. 
'But/  sez  she,  'you  haven't  inquired  for  letters  for  that 
new  hired  girl  of  yours/  sez  she,  'and  I  don't  know  what 
her  name  is.'  'No,  nor  Oi/  sez  Oi;  (Bridget  was  getting 
more  excited.)  'She  don't  seem  to  write  any  letters 
either/  sez  she.  'Perhaps  she  can't  read  or  write  any 
more  than  meself/  sez  Oi.  'Good  afternoon  to  ye/  sez 
Oi,  and  walked  off  and  left  her,  and  she  dyin'  to  hear 


86          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

A  dizzy  terror  took  possession  of  Annie.  Then  the 
postoffice  people  knew  of  her  and  had  possession  of  her! 
The  police  had  perhaps  been  notified  already  and  the  offi 
cers  would  come  and  drag  her  off.  He  had  always  told 
her  that  the  law  was  on  his  side;  he  could  have  her  put 
into  prison  perhaps,  if  he  succeeded  in  capturing  her. 
Good  God !  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Run  away  again,  now 
that  darkness  was  setting  in!  Where  would  she  go? 
She  had  felt  secure  here ;  or  at  least  she  had  been  so  occu 
pied  that  she  had  been  able  to  thrust  back  all  trouble 
some  thoughts  of  her  past  life,  and  she  had  made  no  pro 
vision  against  possible  detection  or  for  flight.  And 
what  would  Bridget  say  if  a  policeman  were  to  come  up 
suddenly  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  say  "You  are 
my  prisoner!"  She  started  up  at  the  thought,  and  Cobby 
opened  wide  his  dark  eyes  to  look  inquiringly  into  her 
face.  They  were  the  eyes  of  his  father — her  employer — 
and  oh !  what  would  he  say?  It  was  evident  they  already 
looked  upon  her  as  baggage  to  be  carted  off  to  the  near 
est  police  station  when  the  prison  van  should  come  for 
her ;  for  in  all  their  conversation  about  her,  they  had  not 
once  taken  notice  of  her. 

She  had  not  even  heard  all  they  said,  for  Mr.  Winters 
had  left  the  room  unobserved  by  her.  And  now  the  door 
opened  again;  were  they  coming  for  her  already?  No; 
it  was  only  Paul  and  he  went  up  to  Bridget  with  a  grin 
spread  all  over  his  broad  Dutch  face  and  asked 

"So  Mrs.  Ault  was  mad — was  she?  The  olle  Hexe! 
It  was  only  because  you  hired  Annie  without  asking  her 
permission — "  A  sound  between  a  sigh  and  a  laugh  in 
terrupted  his  speech ;  and  both  he  and  Bridget  turned  to 


HER  RED  HAIR  87 

where  Annie  was  seated  with  Cobby  in  her  lap — her  face 
in  a  blaze,  but  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"Why,  Annie/'  exclamed  Bridget,  "Are  you  sick?  I 
had  quite  overlooked  you,  I  was  that  mad  at  the  meddle 
some  old  thing.  Don't  you  be  afraid  of  her,  gerrul,  while 
I'm  around,"  she  continued  after  a  momentary  pause, 
surprised  at  Annie's  silence. 

Poor  Annie  could  not  speak,  however,  for  fear  of  going 
into  a  fit  of  crying.  She  was  only  a  woman ;  and  the  re 
lief  of  finding  that  it  was  Trixy's  "dand-aunt"  who  had 
incensed  Bridget  by  her  meddling,  was  so  great  that  she 
could  hardly  keep  from  falling  around  the  neck  of  the 
honest  Irish  woman. 

She  put  Cobby  to  bed,  and  coming  back  more  collected, 
the  three  spent  the  evening  together  again  in  content  and 
quiet  happiness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Through  all  these  weeks  the  process  of  straightening 
up  the  house,  which  Bridget  had  laid  such  stress  on,  had 
not  progressed  very  rapidly.  And  since  Cobby  had  now 
quite  recovered  and  the  weather  was  delightful,  Paul 
agreed  to  take  the  three  children  with  him  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  ranch  where  he  was  to  inspect  a  young  plan 
tation  of  seedling  grapes — thus  giving  the  two  women 
time  to  go  to  work  on  the  sitting-room  together.  Pack 
ing  Cobby  carefully  into  the  baby  carriage,  Annie  next 
helped  to  mount  Bobby  on  Paul's  shoulders  where  he  put 
his  short  legs  around  the  young  German's  neck  and 
made  himself  still  more  secure  by  digging  his  fat  fists 
into  his  straw-colored  hair.  Thus  they  marched  off, 
Trixy  bringing  up  the  rear  with  her  butterfly  net  on  her 
shoulder  and  a  little  tin  bucket  to  put  horned  toads  in, 
or  any  other  "varmint"  she  might  capture.  Then  the 
women  went  indoors,  bustling  and  busy  both  of  them, 
with  the  firm  determination  to  put  in  a  day  at  hard 
labor. 

To  this  day  the  clothing  and  wearing  apparel  had  not 
all  been  removed  from  the  different  articles  of  furniture ; 
but  now  Annie  was  rapidly  disposing  of  the  articles 
under  Bridget's  direction.  At  last  the  piano  was  cleared 
entirely  of  its  burden  of  hats,  shoes,  umbrellas  and  chil 
dren's  toys,  and  Annie,  after  carefully  dusting  the  out 
side,  raised  the  cover  and  yielded  to  the  temptation  of 
touching  the  keys. 


HER  RED  HAIR  89 

"Oh!  Bridget,"  she  cried  beseechingly,  "may  I? 
Please." 

Bridget,  closely  inspecting  a  bundle  of  papers  she 
could  not  read,  turned  at  this  touching  appeal. 

"May  you  what?  Play  the  piano?  Shure  ye  may  if 
ye  can." 

And  Annie,  running  her  fingers  over  the  keys,  found 
that  the  instrument  though  a  little  out  of  tune,  had  a 
magnificent  tone ;  and  Bridget  soon  stood  beside  her, 
dust-cloth  in  hand,  and  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open  in 
astonishment. 

"Why,  Annie  gerrul — who  would  have  thought  it! 
Can  you  sing,  too?" 

"Yes,"  said  Annie  without  hesitation ;  and  she  intoned 
one  of  the  Aves  that  she  felt  sure  Bridget  must  have 
heard  in  church.  She  was  not  mistaken,  for  she  touched 
her  on  the  shoulder,  directly  saying,  breathlessly: 

"Annie — you're  a  Catholic?" 

To  which  the  girl  replied,  "No,  Bridget;  but  I  have 
both  played  and  sung  in  your  church,  at  high  mass  and 
at  vespers." 

Bridget  looked  at  her  searchingly  a  moment ;  then  she 
said,  "You  ought  to  be  one.  But  go  on  with  your  music." 

Which  she  did  to  such  good  purpose  that  while  she 
forgot  herself  in  the  reproduction  from  memory  of  some 
old  church  music,  Bridget  drew  h^r  rosary  from  her 
pocket,  and  kneeling  by  the  piano  she  became  absorbed 
in  her  devotions  as  though  she  were  kneeling  in  some 
corner  of  the  church  of  her  faith. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  morning's  work 
was  not  done  when  Paul  returned  with  the  children,  but 
Bridget  cared  little  for  that.  With  an  air  of  triumph 


90          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

she  told  Paul  that  she  had  heard  that  piano  played  on  at 
last,  and  that  Annie  had  done  the  playing. 

"No — "  said  Paul  in  astonishment,  "can  she  do  every 
thing?" 

"She  can  sing,  at  least.  Do  you  know  she  sang  so 
beautifully  I  thought  I  was  in  church/*  pursued  Bridget. 

"And  didn't  she  begin  at  once  to  pray  to  all  her  Saints 
that  they  might  pray  her  soul  into  heaven?"  asked  Paul 
of  Annie. 

But  Bridget  herself  replied: 

"The  which,  av  course,  is  not  necessary  for  the  loikes 
av  ye  to  do.  Didn't  Luther  promise  that  all  the  Dutch 
should  walk  straight  into  heaven  wid  their  wooden  shoes 
on?" 

In  the  afternoon  when  Cobby  was  asleep,  they  meant 
to  start  in  again  on  their  work.  Standing  by  the  crib  to 
see  that  her  pet  was  soundly  asleep,  Annie  said  softly — 

"Do  you  know,  Bridget,  that  while  Cobby  was  so  sick 
I  used  to  think  that  his  dead  mother  was  longing  for  him 
and  trying  to  draw  him  to  her — " 

"Annie!"  Bridget  interrupted  her  harshly  with  anger 
in  her  voice. 

"Oh — I  beg  pardon — "  stammered  Annie.  "Is  she  not 
dead  ?  Forgive  me — I  had  no  right  to  ask — " 

"You  had  a  perfect  right  to  ask  the  question,  Annie; 
Cobby's  mother  is  dead  fast  enough.  But  as  for  her 
wanting  any  of  her  children  to  come  near  her  unless  they 
were  frizzled  and  fur-belowed  as  she  always  was  herself 
— it  sounded  so  foolish  in  ye  to  say  it  that  I  did  not  know 
whether  to  laugh  or  get  mad." 

"Bridget!"  It  was  Annie's  turn  now  to  ejaculate  her 
companion's  name  in  horror,  and  she  said  nothing  more. 


HER  RED  HAIR  91 

But  Bridget  silently  left  the  room  to  return  directly,  with 
the  mysterious  bunch  of  keys,  and  simply  saying  "Come/' 
she  led  the  way  through  the  hall  and  stopped  in  front  of 
one  of  the  tall,  fine  doors.  Annie's  curiosity  was  aroused, 
and  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  surprise  passed  her 
lips  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  interdicted 
rooms. 

Tall  mirrors ;  luxurious  furniture  daintily  upholstered ; 
silken  hangings  covered  with  filmy  lace;  carpets  that 
deadened  every  foot-fall  in  their  velvet  pile ;  marvelously 
beautiful  chandeliers  hanging  from  artistically  decorated 
ceilings;  mantles  and  chiffoniers  bright  with  little  gems 
of  art  and  objects  of  vertu — she  could  instantly  conjure 
up  a  delicate  fairy-like  creature  that  flitted  through  these 
rooms  and  from  them  into  that  other  realm  of  enchant 
ment,  the  conservatory. 

And  a  delicate  fairy-like  creature  she  had  been  accord 
ing  to  Bridget's  story — "Fay  Lilian"  her  admirers  had 
called  her — the  gilded  youth  of  San  Francisco,  dangling 
after  her  when  she  was  already  Mr.  Winters'  wife.  In 
deed  they  had  only  discovered  her  after  he  had  lifted 
her  out  of  obscurity  and  made  her  his  wife.  Glad  enough 
she  had  been  to  capture  John  Winters,  the  wealthiest 
man  in  his  neighborhood,  when  she  first  came  to  Califor 
nia  with  a  widowed  mother  and  an  older  sister  to  live 
with  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Ault,  the  postmistress  at  Centreton. 
The  old  house  in  the  large  nursery  grounds  had  seemed 
quite  grand  to  her  then ;  but  she  soon  outgrew  it  and  ca 
joled  her  husband  into  buying  a  fine  house  in  town.  Then 
began  a  course  of  pleasure-hunting  and  dissipation  un 
heard  of  in  the  annals  of  San  Francisco  society.  Fairy 
feasts  were  arranged  in  which  appeared  the  Fairy  Queen 


92          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

in  a  blaze  of  diamonds — and  very  little  else,  if  Bridget's 
statements  could  be  believed,  crowds  of  admirers  had  the 
young  married  woman,  while  the  older  sister  looked  in 
vain  for  a  match  as  advantageous  as  the  younger  sister 
had  made.  Trixy's  birth  had  put  an  end  to  festivities  for 
a  brief  space  of  time,  much  to  the  chagrin  of  the  older 
sister,  who  upbraided  Mrs.  Winters  for  depriving  her  of 
a  whole  season's  pleasure.  As  soon  as  possible  Trixy 
was  placed  in  the  hands  of  servants  and  nurses,  and 
again  the  mad  chase  began — not  after  pleasure  alone,  but 
a  husband  for  "Con."  Mr.  Winters,  in  the  meantime, 
had  awakened  to  the  fact  that  he  too  was  only  a  husband, 
a  creature  whose  worth  was  weighed  by  the  "heft"  of  his 
purse. 

At  this  period  Bridget  had  first  come  into  the  Winters 
household,  as  a  loan  from  his  sister,  Mrs.  Higginson, 
whose  cook  and  faithful  handmaiden  she  had  been  ever 
since  she  came  to  California.  Then  Bobby  arrived,  and 
again  Miss  Constancia  was  furious  at  her  sister's  incon- 
siderateness.  But  after  a  brief  period  the  old  life  was 
taken  up  again,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Winters'  earnest  protest 
and  his  assertion  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy 
through  his  wife's  insane  extravagance.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  it  was  his  sister  who  came  to  his  aid  financially  in 
time  to  prevent  his  creditors  from  forcing  him  to  assign. 
But  she  did  it  under  the  condition  that  he  take  his  wife 
and  family  back  to  the  home  at  the  Nursery  across  the 
bay;  and  he  then  built  this  addition  to  the  old  house 
and  brought  part  of  the  furnishing  of  the  city  house 
here.  The  house  in  the  city  was  sold,  though  his  petite 
wife  tore  her  yellow-dyed  short  hair  and  writhed  on  the 


HER  RED  HAIR  93 

floor  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage  and  hysterics,  when   she 
learned  the  fact. 

She  had  been  moved  to  this  place  not  a  day  too  soon, 
however,  for  Cobby  was  born,  to  the  surprise  of  his  own 
father,  even ;  for  no  one  had  known  of  her  condition,  and 
the  poor  little  mite  of  humanity  was  made  to  suffer  for 
his  mother's  persistent  effort  to  escape  the  cares  and  in 
conveniences  of  maternity.  But  she  paid  the  penalty 
with  her  life. 

Her  mother,  sister  and  aunt  spoke  in  no  low  tones  of 
the  tyranny  that  had  made  the  poor  martyr's  life  a  bur 
den,  and  the  brutality  that  had  caused  her  death.  Only 
once  had  the  mother  come  to  the  house  since  then.  She 
wanted  the  piano,  wrhich  Lily  had  promised  to  Constan- 
cia  in  case  of  her  death.  And  surely,  she  argued,  he  could 
have  no  use  for  it,  as  its  tones  could  only  remind  him  of 
joys  forever  fled  from  his  life ;  while  Constancia  had  use 
for  the  piano.  John  Winters  had  replied  that  no  painful 
memories  could  be  brought  back  to  him  by  the  sound 
of  the  piano,  as  his  wife  had  never  touched  the  keys  for 
him ;  and  that  Constancia  could  not  play. 

Not  long  afterwards  Constancia  called.  She  wanted 
her  sister's  diamonds ;  she  had  been  promised  them  in 
case  of  her  death.  John  Winters  told  her  that  the  dia 
monds  were  no  longer  in  his  possession;  he  had  sold 
them  to  pay  the  poor  women  who  had  labored  with  the 
needle  to  deck  his  wife  in  finery  for  which  he  thought  he 
had  paid  before  she  wore  it.  Neither  mother  or  sister 
had  ever  come  again ;  but  Mrs.  Ault  had  kept  a  general 
supervision— "looked  after  the  motherless  children,  left 
helpless  in  the  hands  of  an  ignorant  Irish  woman,  who 
assumed  all  the  airs  of  the  mistress  of  the  house."  Which 


94          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

meant,  in  plain  English,  that  it  was  just  as  well  to  keep 
an  eye  on  the  children,  as  the  father  was  known  to  be 
still  wealthy. 

When  the  two  women  left  the  rooms  to  their  old  soli 
tude,  and  Annie  stepped  out  on  the  gallery  again  from 
where  she  had  seen  the  conservatory  that  first  moment 
after  coming  here,  many  thoughts  were  crowded  through 
her  brain.  She  understood  now  the  deep  fold  between 
his  eyes,  that  gave  the  gloomy  look  to  her  employer's 
face. 

Sometimes,  however,  a  gentle  look  would  come  into 
his  face ;  as  for  instance  just  now,  when  he  was  stroking 
his  full,  brown  beard  with  a  hand  well  shaped  but  almost 
as  brown.  He  was  watching  his  little  daughter  as  she 
approached  Annie,  carrying  an  envelope,  tray-fashioned, 
on  which  something  was  laid  that  she  presented  with  a 
happy  smile  to  her  beloved  Annie. 

"It  is  a  horned  toad,  a  very  small  one,  Annie ;  don't 
get  frightened  at  it,  for  it  is  perfectly  harmless  in  spite 
of  its  name,  which  is  Moloch  Horrodus  in  Natural  His 
tory.  Trixy  found  it  this  morning,  and  is  dying  to  have 
you  admire  it." 

Annie  stepped  forward  laughing,  and  with  the  deter 
mination  to  pick  up  and  admire  the  creature  even  though 
it  were  a  rattlesnake.  But  instead  of  this  she  gave  a 
low  cry  of  terror,  growing  pale  as  death  and  staggering 
up  to  the  nearest  pillar  for  support. 

Mr.  Winters  came  hurriedly  out  of  his  office — he  had 
spoken  to  her  through  the  open  door — and  looked  in 
amazement  into  her  colorless  face. 

"Poor  Annie — I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "I  had  no  idea 
that  the  thing  would  frighten  you  so." 


HER  RED  HAIR  95 

Annie  struggled  desperately  to  control  herself.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  said  falteringly,  "a  working 
girl  like  myself  should  be  ashamed  of  herself  for  growing 
faint  at  sight  of  a  toad;  it  is  only  because — because  I 
had  never  seen  one  like  it  before. 

The  fold  between  Mr.  Winters'  brow  grew  deeper. 
"Come,  come,  Annie,"  he  said,  "why  do  you  keep  up  that 
farce  of  'a  working  girl'  with  me?" 

"Then  you  know  who  I  am?"  Her  face  had  flushed 
painfully,  and  her  hands  trembled  as  she  laid  them  on 
her  beating  heart. 

"No,"  he  answered  more  sternly  than  he  had  spoken 
yet,  "I  do  not.  You  have  a  secret  to  keep ;  keep  it.  I 
shall  not  pry  into  it,  but  do  not  attempt  to  deceive  me  by 
pretending  to  be  what  you  are  not ;"  and  he  walked  past 
her  into  the  house. 

Trixy  stood  expectant;  was  she  to  be  slapped  or 
petted?  Making  sure  that  her  employer  had  left  the 
courtyard,  Annie  called  Trixy  to  her,  and  under  pretence 
of  helping  her  look  for  the  baby-toad,  which  had  gone 
perdu  in  the  interval,  she  secured  the  envelope  on  which 
the  horned  toad  had  been  presented  to  her. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Was  it  only  fancy  or  did  her  employer  really  watch 
her  more  closely  after  this.  As  for  herself  she  neither 
gave  him  nor  Bridget  any  grounds  for  complaint,  but  the 
old  sense  of  security  had  left  her,  and  she  always  dreaded 
to  see  Paul  go  for  the  mail.  While  listening  to  Bridget's 
story  that  day,  the  longing  had  taken  possession  of  her 
to  go  to  him  and  lay  her  hand  only  once  on  the  hand  of 
her  employer  and  assure  him  that  she  would  die,  if  it 
were  necessary,  to  make  amends  for  the  grief  and  the 
heart-ache  that  one  of  her  sex  had  caused  him,  a  good, 
true  man,  she  felt,  if  ever  one  lived.  How  she  blushed 
now  to  think  he  saw  in  her  only  an  adventuress,  without 
name,  without  standing  or  character.  And  still  they 
were  all  so  kind  to  her,  and  the  children  clung  to  her 
with  such  affection  that  even  Bobby  had  laid  aside  the 
surly,  blase  indifference  with  which  he  had  been  wont 
to  regard  everything  that  was  not  connected  with  Noah's 
Ark,  ginger-snaps  and  sugar  cookies. 

Spring  had  grown  into  summer;  humming  birds  with 
plumage  of  liquid  amethyst  and  amber,  ruby  and  emer 
ald,  fluttered  and  buzzed  in  and  out  of  the  conservatory. 
The  lark  rose  up  from  the  green  fields  in  the  early  dew, 
the  robin,  the  linnet  and  the  little  blue  finch  piped  and 
twittered  and  trilled  all  the  day  long;  and  sometimes 
early,  sometimes  late,  the  mocking  bird  flew  across  from 
its  haunts  in  the  foothills  to  feast  on  the  worms  and 
grubs  that  the  men  working  in  the  nursery  grounds  un 
earthed  with  their  spades.  As  the  season  moved  on 


HERIRED  HAIR  97 

Annie  often  gazed  across  the  valley  into  those  same  foot 
hills,  where  the  sun  had  left  its  hot  kisses  on  the  earth 
till  it  grew  parched  and  brown  from  their  ardor ;  but  the 
fields  and  farms  lying  as  if  sown  broadcast,  and  the 
clumps  and  groves  of  trees  clothed  in  undying  green, 
made  a  very  attractive  picture.  All  through  the  summer 
a  langorous,  dreamy  atmosphere  hung  over  these  hills, 
softening  the  hard  outlines  of  the  features  which  the  Cal- 
ifornian  stamps  on  the  face  of  nature  when  he  attempts 
to  cultivate  it  as  a  ranch. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  valley  rose  a  more  majestic 
mountain-chain,  its  giant  redwoods  visible  at  this  dis 
tance  only  as  dark  masses  clothing  its  rugged  sides, 
where  blue  shadows  gathered  in  deep  canyons  never 
lighted  by  the  sun.  Now  she  had  learned  to  love  the 
country  around  her — and  the  people,  too.  Yes,  she  knew 
it;  it  would  break  her  heart  to  be  thrust  out  of  what 
seemed  almost  an  earthly  paradise  to  her,  so  free  from 
the  strife,  the  bitterness,  the  humiliations  of  her  past  life. 
How  long  would  it  last,  she  asked  herself  every  morning 
anew. 

And  one  day — had  it  come  now — the  time  that  she  felt 
must  come  sooner  or  later?  She  noticed  that  Mr.  Win 
ters,  though  kinder  to  her  since  the  day  he  told  her  to 
keep  her  secret,  than  ever  before,  had  grown  restless  and 
gloomy  by  turns.  He  had  several  interviews  with 
Bridget,  who  had  evidently  his  full  confidence  as  he  had 
her  sympathy,  for  she  declared  to  Annie  after  these  in 
terviews,  that  the  master  was  the  best  man  in  the  world, 
and  that  no  man's  kindness  had  been  more  abused  and 
taken  advantage  of;  that  he  was  about  to  lose  thousands 


98          JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

and  thousands  because  he  had  had  faith  in  a  man  who 
had  had  faith  in  a  woman. 

And  was  he  again  to  suffer  through  the  fault  and 
wrong-doing  of  a  woman,  Annie  asked  herself.  But  she 
was  not  left  much  longer  in  suspense ;  for  one  day,  when 
Bridget  had  gone  over  to  Centreton  again,  and  Cobby 
was  lying  asleep,  Trixy  came  to  say  that  papa  wanted  to 
speak  to  Annie.  With  a  great  throb  at  her  heart  she  pre 
pared  herself  for  the  worst,  never  dreaming  that  the  man 
who  had  sent  for  her  was  preparing  himself  for  the 
worst,  too.  Stroking  his  beard,  as  he  did  when  he  was 
excited  or  agitated,  he  paced  his  office,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  mutter  to  himself,  "Let  this  be  the  test ;  this  shall 
be  the  test." 

Had  her  sight  been  clear  when  she  entered  the  office, 
she  might  have  been  startled  at  what  she  could  have 
read  in  his  eyes,  which  had  anything  rather  than  a  for 
bidding  expression  in  them. 

"Annie,"  he  began  kindly,  "I  must  speak  to  you  on  a 
subject  that  is  painful  to  me — " 

Her  head  swam ;  should  she  cut  the  matter  short,  turn 
around  and  walk  out  of  the  house  before  he  could  send 
her? 

"I  have  become  financially  embarrassed" — this  was 
music  to  her  ears — "and  I  fear  I  can  no  longer  afford  to 
pay  wages  to  two — " 

"But  I  want  no  wages!"  interrupted  Annie  eagerly — 
of  which  Mr.  Winters  made  a  note,  mentally,  remember 
ing  the  day  when  she  had  pretended  she  was  anxious  not 
to  lose  her  place,  because  she  was  getting  such  good 
wages, 


HER  RED  HAIR  99 

"You  have  been  so  good  to  my  children,  they  love  you 
so  dearly — " 

"Oh!  do  not  separate  us,"  she  pleaded;  "I  will  work 
early  and  late ;  I  feel  now  that  I  have  not  done  half 
enough  and  can  do  a  great  deal  more — " 

"Stop,  my  girl,"  he  interrupted  her,  "I  feel  that  you 
have  a  right  to  my  confidence  in  this  matter  before  de 
ciding  on  your  course,  and  I  will  explain.  In  my  old 
home  in  the  East,  I  had  a  friend,  younger  than  myself, 
the  son  of  a  man  greatly  beloved  by  my  father.  The  boy 
was  handsome,  but  effeminate  and  delicate;  and  when 
his  father  found  that  he  was  dissipating  at  college,  he 
took  him  back  home.  This  break  in  his  career,  as  the 
boy  called  it,  he  never  forgave  his  father  for;  and  when 
in  course  of  time  he  seemed  unwilling  or  unable  to  settle 
down  to  any  calling  or  pursuit,  he  always  blamed  his 
father  for  it." 

"I  have  been  long  away  from  the  old  home,"  Mr.  Win 
ters  continued,  passing  his  hand  over  his  face,  as  if  to 
clear  away  the  mist  of  many  years,  "my  sister  and  I  have 
long  lived  in  California,  and  it  is  but  seldom  we  hear 
from  there.  The  friend  of  whom  I  speak  had  also  quit 
our  quiet  old  New  England  town;  his  father's  fortune 
was  soon  spent,  but  I  heard  later  that  he  had  married, 
out  West  somewhere,  a  young  lady  of  independent 
wealth.  He  was  talented  in  various  ways;  had  rare  abili 
ties  as  an  artist,  was  fond  of  music  and  understood  it; 
so  that  I  was  not  greatly  surprised  when  he  wrote  me, 
some  time  ago,  that  he  had  been  to  Europe  to  engage 
the  requisite  talent  and  proposed  to  come  to  California 
and  put  on  the  stage  at  San  Francisco  a  number  of 
operas  in  a  manner  that  would  ensure  an  artistic  as  well 


100        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

as  financial  success.  But  he  needed  money — a  great  deal 
of  money — which  he  could  readily  procure  if  he  could  get 
the  names  of  two  or  three  well-known  Californians  on 
the  bonds  that  were  required  of  him.  He  had  allowed 
his  heart  to  run  away  with  his  head,  he  said;  he  had 
married  a  poor  girl,  but  she  had  a  remarkably  fine  voice 
and  some  histrionic  talent. 

"I  could  not  well  refuse  his  request,  and  fearing  no 
falsehood  I  could  foresee  no  danger.  Several  months 
ago  I  was  startled  by  a  communication  from  him  in  re 
gard  to  this  wife  of  his.  After  having  spent  the  last  of 
his  fortune  upon  this  woman  whom  he  had  taken  to 
Europe  to  cultivate  her  voice ;  and  after  having  lavished 
upon  her,  not  only  money,  but  all  his  heart's  love  and 
devotion  she  had  deserted  him — gone  with  a  handsomer 
man— upon  the  very  threshold  of  her  fame,  and  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  financial  success.  They  had  reached  San 
Francisco,  it  appears,  and  after  crossing  the  Bay  to 
gether,  she  had  turned  from  him,  in  the  crowd  on  the 
wharf,  and  was  seen  entering  a  carriage  together  with 
a  man,  the  carriage  being  driven  off  at  mad  speed  as  soon 
as  the  stranger  had  entered  it.  He  suspects  an  old  lover 
who  had  followed  her  from  home.  Be  that  as  it  may; 
the  treachery  and  heartlessness  of  the  woman  has  ruined 
my  friend  and  will  come  very  near  ruining  me  finan 
cially;  for  it  seems  that  an  assignment  has  been  made  by 
Fulton — here  is  a  letter — "  he  drew  it  from  his  pocket, 
laid  it  on  the  desk  before  him  and  was  struck  dumb  when 
suddenly  Annie  approached,  glanced  at  the  letter  and 
said  unhesitatingly  in  a  firm  tone: 

"That  is  not  Harry  Fulton's  handwriting." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  What 
could  she  know  about  the  friend  of  his  youth?  Was  she 
in  her  right  mind? 

"What  do  you  know  about  my  friend,  Harry  Fulton," 
he  asked  with  a  strange  fear  at  his  heart.  "Who  are 
you?" 

And  her  answer  came  clear  and  sharp:  "I  am  that 
man's  wife!  He  lies  when  he  says  that  I  deserted  him 
to  follow  some  other  man.  He  lies  when  he  says  that  I 
ever  loved  another  man;  he  lies  when  he  says  that  he 
married  mej — poor,  and  lavished  wealth  and  affection  on 
me — oh !  my  God — "  Her  voice  had  risen  in  her  passion 
and  her  ire  till  it  rang  again;  but  the  reaction  came  all 
too  soon,  and  she  would  have  fallen  had  he  not  supported 
her  to  a  chair. 

"You  poor  child,"  he  said  gently  laying  his  hand  on 
hers ;  but  she  flung  it  aside. 

"Don't  touch  my  hand !"  she  cried ;  "I  am  that  man's 
wife,  I  tell  you ;  and  if  he  did  not  quite  succeed  in  making 
of  me  the  base  contemptible  thing  he  meant  to,  I  escaped 
so  narrowly,  and  felt  the  degradation  so  keenly,  that  I 
cannot  bear  your  hand  to  touch  me." 

A  new  light  shone  in  John  Winters'  eyes.  "But  you 
can  tell  me,  Annie — can  you  not,  about  your  trouble  and 
your  sorrow." 

"Willingly,"  she  assented,  "for  I  have  lived  the  life  of 
a  condemned  culprit  ever  since  I  saw  Harry  Fulton's 


102        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

handwriting  on  the  envelope  I  took  from  Beatrice  that 
day." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "now  I  understand." 

"The  one  circumstance  that  made  me  feel  comparative 
ly  safe,"  she  went  on,  "was  that  the  letter  was  addressed 
to  your  name,  San  Francisco;  and  was  post  marked  in 
New  Orleans.  It  was  barely  possible,  I  thought,  that  you 
might  not  recognize  me  from  the  description,  in  spite  of 
my  red  hair;  for  it  never  once  occurred  to  me  that  you 
could  know  the  man.  The  fact  of  its  coming  from  New 
Orleans  gave  me  some  hope  of  his  remaining  there  for 
want  of  funds  to  come  back  here.  You  know,  of  course, 
that  he  has  become  dreadfully  dissipated  and  that  for 
tune  never  smiles  on  him  at  cards." 

"I  feared  as  much,"  said  John  Winters  musingly,  "and 
for  that  reason  this  document — "  pointing  to  the  letter, 
"gives  me  some  uneasiness.  It  is  an  assignment  of  the 
claim  which  the  bond  I  signed  gives  him  on  me.  But 
you,  at  least,  are  safe  from  him  after  this,  poor  child.  A 
sad  life  he  must  have  led  you,  the  scamp." 

"But  I  have  escaped  from  oh ! — from  untold  misery. 
And  I  thought  once  that  I  loved  the  man;  did  love  him, 
perhaps." 

"Harry  was  fascinating,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Winters. 
"But  where  and  when  did  you  first  meet  with  him." 

"It  was  after  the  death  of  my  father,"  Annie  began, 
"he  died  before  I  was  eighteen,  leaving  a  widow,  my 
stepmother,  with  three  daughters.  My  fortune  derived 
from  my  mother,  but  my  stepmother  was  given  charge 
of  everything,  myself  included.  We  had  hardly  laid 
aside  our  mourning,  before  she  insisted  that  I  get  mar 
ried,  being  the  oldest,  and  there  not  being  money  enough 


HER  RED  HAIR  103 

to  provide  for  us  according  to  our  standing  in  society. 
I  ventured  to  suggest  that  my  mother  had  left  me  enough 
to  live  on,  to  which  she  replied  that  my  father  had  not 
left  her  enough  to  live  on,  and  that  I  could  not  be  so 
selfish  as  to  live  in  luxury  while  my  sisters  were  starv 
ing.  If  I  married  the  man  who  was  then  on  the  carpet, 
I  should  need  none  of  the  money  my  mother  had  left  me, 
and  she  might  hope  to  exist  on  the  interest.  Marry  the 
man  I  would  not,  but  I  sang  at  the  old  Cathedral  in  St. 
Louis,  was  paid  for  it,  and  brought  the  money  home  to 
show  my  stepmother.  But  she  laughed  at  the  idea  that 
I  could  think  to  provide  for  myself  with  anything  so  un 
certain  as  an  engagement  to  sing  in  a  church  choir. 

"As  I  was  not  watched  closely  so  long  as  I  kept  myself 
well  out  of  the  way,  I  devoted  the  next  six  months  to 
going  through  an  apprenticeship  at  Madame  de  Faun- 
feder's  millinery  establishment,  securing  thereby  a  per 
fect  torrent  of  abuse  for  myself  and  a  fit  of  hysterics  for 
all  of  our  five  hundred  friends,  who  said  they  always 
knew  there  was  something  vulgar  about  that  red-headed 
girl.  In  fact,  it  was  all  laid  to  my  red  hair ;  the  difficulty 
I  had  in  finding  a  suitable  husband  (as  if  I  were  hunting 
for  one),  the  dislike  which  my  stepmother  felt  for  me — 
the  coldness  with  which  my  friends  turned  from  me." 

"That  beautiful  Titian  hair  on  your  head,  Annie?" 
asked  Mr.  Winters. 

"That  accursed  red  mane,  as  Harry  Fulton  called  it — 
later  on.  When  I  first  met  him  he  was  captivated  by 
my  beauty,  my  grace,  my  magnificent  hair — in  short  by 
the  figure  of  my  bank  account" — she  laughed  bitterly  at 
her  own  joke.  Then  she  continued,  "Just  how  my  step 
mother  and  he  arranged,  I  don't  know ;  but  we  went  to 


104        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Europe  on  our  wedding-tour,  and  while  there  he  gener 
ously  proposed  that  my  exceptional  voice  be  cultivated, 
for  which  he  paid  enormous  sums — out  of  my  money. 
But  the  sums  he  lost  at  the  gaming-table  were  still  larger, 
and  it  was  not  long  till  he  told  me  we  had  spent  every 
thing  we  had." 

"We  never  went  back  to  my  old  home ;  from  New  Or 
leans  it  seems  he  opened  correspondence  for  the  pur 
pose  of  bringing  out  a  play — an  opera — a  something 
in  which  that  accursed  red  mane  of  mine,  as  he  now 
called  it,  could  be  turned  to  some  use.  I  was  helpless, 
and  oh!  so  miserable;  not  a  soul  in  the  wide  world  to 
turn  to  for  advice  or  aid.  But  I  was  determined  to  elude 
him—11 

"But  Annie,  with  the  magnificent  voice  you  have  (for 
I  have  heard  you  sing)  why  should  you  have  so  strug 
gled  against  singing  in  concert  or  opera?"  Mr.  Winters 
interrupted  her. 

"I  should  not  have  objected  to  either,  for  I  think  I 
have  a  vein  of  an  artist  in  my  composition.  But  from  the 
letters  which  the  manager,  Lockhart — " 

"Richard  Lockhart!  There  was  never  a  greater  vil 
lain  than  Dick  Lockhart  in  the  world;  and — stop — yes, 
to  be  sure,  he  is  the  manager  of  some  third  class  place  of 
entertainment — where  dramas  are  represented  in  which 
the  personal  charms  of  the  ladies  are  of  vastly  greater 
importance  than  either  voice  or  artistic  training." 

A  flush  mounted  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair  as  Annie 
went  on. 

"Ah!  now  you  understand.  I  had  fully  made  up  my 
mind  to  die  rather  than  go  on  this  stage.  The  train 
that  brought  us  out  here  was  unfortunate  from  the  start. 


HER  RED  HAIR  105 

First  a  collision,  then  a  two  days'  delay  on  account  of 
snow,  and  lastly  a  break  of  some  kind  about  the  car- 
wheel,  which  detained  the  train  here  long  enough  for 
me  to  make  my  escape  the  day  I  first  found  my  way  to 
this  house.  While  we  were  at  the  hotel,  snowbound,  I 
saw  a  poor  woman,  the  mother  of  one  of  the  servants, 
pass  through  the  hall;  and  telling  her  daughter  that  we 
were  'show  people/  and  that  I  wanted  just  such  a  make 
up,  I  got  the  dress,  the  shawl  and  the  quaker-bonnet 
from  her;  paying  her  well  for  them  but  none  too  much 
for  the  good  they  have  done  me.  And  will  you  keep  me 
in  your  service  now,  since  you  know  who  I  am?"  she 
asked  humbly. 

"You  will  be  safer  with  me  than  anywhere  else,"  he 
replied.  "I  owe  you  a  great  debt  of  gratitude,  and  ask 
you  to  forgive  me  for  having  wronged  you  as — that 
man's  wife.  He  told  so  plausible  a  story.  But  come  to 
think  of  it,  he  never  once  mentioned  Lockhart;  and  the 
name  does  not  appear  in  this  document,  either;  which 
shows  that  his  conscience  was  not  clear." 

"And  is  the  amount  you  lose  very  great?'*  Annie  asked 
in  much  concern.  "Believe  me,  I  shall  try  to  atone  as 
much  as  possible,  if  Bridget  will  not  grow  angry  at  my 
crowding  her  out." 

"Don't  fear!"  he  put  in  hastily.  "She  goes  back  will 
ingly  to  my  sister,  and  says  that  you  are  fully  capable  of 
attending  to  the  children  and  the  household  too.  And 
it  will  be  a  great  saving,  you  know,"  he  added  hypo 
critically,  "for  I  pay  Bridget  twice  the  wages  you  get." 
Then  he  wished  he  hadn't  said  it,  for  Annie  looked  sur 
prised,  and  the  fact  was  that  he  had  no  idea  what  wages 
Bridget  allowed  Annie. 


106        JOPSEHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

The  days  were  now  spent  principally  in  making  up 
reticules  for  Bridget,  and  trimming  hats  and  bonnets  for 
her,  not  to  forget  the  making  up  of  a  dress  which  Bridget 
declared  was  "the  finest  she  iver  had."  Bridget  on  her  side 
had  her  hands  full  trying  to  define  to  Annie  and  Paul  both 
where  the  duties  and  tasks  of  the  one  ended  and  the  oth 
ers'  began.  But  they  agreed  not  to  disagree  over  the  dis 
tribution  of  labor,  and  Bridget  set  sail  for  San  Francisco 
with  flying  colors  and  hat-strings  streaming  in  the 
breeze.  There  were  no  tears  shed,  though  everybody 
missed  Bridget  more  than  they  were  willing  to  tell,  and 
it  was  well  that  both  Annie  and  Paul  had  an  extra  share 
of  work  to  do  at  present. 

Letters  came  frequently  from  Mrs.  Higginson  with 
messages  from  Bridget ;  had  Annie  done  so  and  so  in  the 
kitchen  and  in  the  household!  And  would  Paul  please 
to  do  this  or  that  about  the  poultry-yard  or  in  the  cow- 
stable.  It  was  evident  that  the  home  at  the  Nursery  was 
in  her  thoughts  constantly,  and  Annie  made  the  remark 
to  Mr.  Winters  that  his  sister  must  be  easily  pleased, 
for  Bridget  seemed  to  be  only  half  with  her. 

"My  sister,"  he  said,  "is  a  jewel,  though  set  in  a  home 
ly  setting." 

One  day  he  told  Annie  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
visit  the  city,  should  he  send  for  Bridget,  or  was  she  not 
afraid  alone,  Paul  sleeping  in  the  house,  of  course.  She 
gave  a  troubled  look  into  his  face. 

"I  fear  it  is  this  dreadful  annoyance  which  I  brought 
on  you,  that  calls  you  to  the  city,"  she  said  sadly.  "What 
can  I  ever  do  to  repay  your  kindness  and  make  you 
forget  the  trouble  and  loss  I  have  caused  you." 


HER  RED  HAIR  107 

With  an  irresistible  impulse  he  caught  both  her  hands 
in  his. 

"I  am  more  blessed  than  I  can  tell  in  having  you  with 
me ;  have  you  not  guessed  my  secret,  Annie,  any  more 
than  I  once  guessed  yours?  I  love  you,  darling;  and  if 
that  man  should  dare  come  here  to  claim  you,  I — I  be 
lieve  I  would  strike  him  dead."  His  face  blanched  with 
the  intensity  of  his  passion. 

Annie  gently  drew  her  hands  from  his  clasp. 

"But  I  am  that  man's  wife,"  she  said  firmly,  "and  al 
though  his  wife  in  name  only,  I  can  never  be  the  wife 
of  another  while  he  lives.  I  cannot  forget  my  marriage 
vow;  for  I  believe  what  God  has  joined  together,  man 
cannot  put  asunder." 

"Ah !  do  not  deal  the  death  blow  to  all  my  cherished 
hopes,"  he  pleaded.  "Is  there  no  voice  in  your  heart 
that  speaks  for  me?  Have  I,  blind  fool,  misinterpreted 
the  softer  light  that  has  come  into  your  eyes,  the  hap 
pier  expression  on  your  face?" 

"Do  not  torture  me,"  she  begged  piteously.  "What 
should  have  sustained  me  in  my  hours  of  darkest  despair 
if  not  the  consciousness  of  wanting  to  do  what  was  right 
before  God?  And  should  I  swerve  from  the  narrow  path 
now,  thorny  though  it  has  grown — because  a  broader, 
lighter  path  leading  into  an  earthly  paradise,  opens  be 
fore  me?  Do  not  make  my  duty  harder;  let  me  rest 
while  I  may  from  my  weary  pilgrimage — awhile  yet." 

"My  house  will  be  yours,  Annie,  as  long  as  you  will 
lend  it  the  sunshine  of  your  presence.  Never  fear,  my 
poor  child;  I  will  struggle  to  still  the  beating  of  my 
heart.  Rest  with  me;  I  will  not  again  disturb  the  tran- 
quility  of  your  present  life." 


108        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

He  kept  his  word  to  the  letter — though  he  could  not 
keep  his  eyes  from  following  her  hungrily  as  she  left  his 
presence,  or  crossed  his  path  in  house  or  garden.  For 
her  sake  he  tried  to  be  happy,  in  her  presence  at  least, 
though  the  gloom  on  his  face  which  had  once  so  touched 
her  tender  heart,  had  deepened  since  the  day  he  had 
avowed  his  love  for  her. 

One  of  the  duties  devolving  upon  her  since  Bridget's 
departure,  was  the  furnishing  of  cakes,  salads,  butter, 
cream  or  anything  else  that  the  ladies  of  the  different 
congregations  in  Centreton  and  the  neighborhood  might 
desire  for  their  church  entertainments.  Baptist,  Catho 
lic,  Methodist  or  Presbyterian — all  were  welcome;  the 
Nursery  was  represented  at  their  fairs  and  socials  in  the 
shape  of  some  delicacy  or  another. 

So  when  Annie  saw  the  apparition  of  a  tall,  spare  man, 
with  benevolent  expression  and  hands  and  feet  very 
much  in  evidence,  approaching  one  day,  she  instantly  fell 
to  speculating  upon  what  the  reverend  gentleman  would 
prefer  for  his  church  entertainment. 

The  garden  in  front  of  the  house,  through  which  she 
had  passed  on  the  day  of  her  arrival,  and  the  hall  door 
by  which  she  had  entered,  were  very  rarely  used,  the  big 
bronze  knocker  had  never  resounded  through  the  house 
since.  There  was  a  wide  gateway  opening  on  the  road 
just  below  the  garden;  and  as  the  gate  was  never  closed 
in  the  day  time,  everybody  came  in  through  it,  walked 
up  the  driveway  and  crossed  the  flag-pavement  in  front 
of  the  gallery. 

It  was  here  on  the  veranda  that  Annie  was  seated, 
shelling  peas,  as  the  figure  described  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house  and  crossed  the  flags.  Cobby  was 


HER  RED  HAIR  109 

close  beside  her  on  the  floor,  holding  in  his  arms  a  rag 
doll,  very  much  as  Annie  was  in  the  habit  of  holding 
him.  Bobby,  whose  social  instincts  had  become  greatly 
enlarged  and  improved,  was  driving  Trixy  in  a  little  go- 
cart  laden  with  all  the  animals  from  the  old  Ark,  much 
dilapidated;  and  an  air  of  peace  and  contentment  per 
vaded  the  atmosphere. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Winters'  housekeeper,  Miss?"  asked  the 
gentleman. 

To  which  Annie  promptly  replied:  "Mr.  Winters' 
housekeeper  is  in  San  Francisco  at  present.  I  am  the 
kitchen  girl  and  my  name  is  Annie." 

"Ah!  indeed!"  said  the  gentleman  as  if  she  had 
given  him  much  food  for  reflection.  "But  surely  you 
have  some  other  name,  Mrs.  or  Miss " 

"Smith,"  she  supplied  the  missing  name,  leaving  her 
interlocutor  to  add  Miss  or  Mistress  according  to  taste. 
"I  have  been  instructed  by  Bridget,  however,  as  well  as 
by  Mr.  Winters,  to  furnish  you  gentlemen  of  the  church 
anything  you  might  desire  for  your  entertainments," 
Annie  went  on;  "cake,  salads,  or  whatever  you  may 
choose  to  name." 

"Ah — very  kind  in  Mr.  Winters — an  excellent  man; 
and  I  hope  I  may  succeed  in  the  errand  of  mercy  upon 
which  I  have  come  this  morning.  These  children  or 
phaned  by  the  death  of  a  most  devoted,  tender  mother, 
does  not  their  forlorn  condition  appeal  to  your  womanly 
sympathies?  If  you  are  a  Christian,  would  you  not  con 
sider  it  your  duty  to  so  reconcile  the  members  of  this 
very  worthy  family  that  either  Mrs.  Ault,  a  most  estima 
ble  lady  or  their  aunt  Constancia  should  become  an 
inmate  of  the  house  and  the  guardian  and  teacher  of 


110        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

these  children.  Think  of  their  being  left,  at  their  tender 
age,  without  a  really  competent  guide ;  for  she,  whom  you 
call  the  housekeeper,  Bridget,  although  of  suitable  age, 
is  an  ignorant,  uneducated  woman,  a  Catholic ;  while  you 
are—" 

"Not  a  Catholic,"  Annie  interupted  this  long  har 
angue,  but  the  other  went  on  to  say. 

"Just  so,  precisely,  as  I  was  saying — while  you  are 
hardly  old  enough  to  live  alone  in  the  house  of  a  single 
man.  When,  therefore,  I  beg  that  you  may  throw  your 
influence  and  persuasion  into  the  scale  with  ours,  so  that 
it  may  tip  in  favor  of  those  who  have  a  better  right  here 
than  you,  I  am  only  asking  you  to  do  what  will  be  a 
benefit  to  you,  and  a  help  in  establishing  your  good 
name." 

Annie's  face  had  grown  red  and  white  by  turns  during 
this  tirade;  but  she  had  been  taught  reverence  for  the 
cloth  in  her  earliest  youth ;  and  after  her  first  astonish 
ment,  she  controlled  herself  sufficiently  to  ask  if  it  were 
the  gentleman's  desire  that  the  object  of  his  visit  should 
be  communicated  by  her  to  her  employer. 

"Plead  with  him  in  this  good  cause,  for  the  sake  of  the 
orphaned  little  ones,"  the  clergyman  urged. 

To  which  Annie  replied  that  it  was  not  her  place  to 
argue  with  the  employer  upon  his  family  affairs.  She 
had  been  hired  to  cook  for  the  family,  to  care  for  the  chil 
dren  ;  to  receive  messages  during  her  employer's  absence 
and  deliver  them  upon  his  return. 

Paul,  coming  to  the  office  for  the  order  book  at  this 
juncture,  hastened  back  to  where  he  had  left  Mr.  Win 
ters  in  the  nursery  grounds;  but  when  this  gentleman 
reached  the  house,  Annie's  visitor  had  departed.  Look- 


HER  RED  HAIR  111 

ing  into  her  troubled  face  he  could  give  a  pretty  good 
guess  at  what  had  transpired;  it  did  not  need  many 
words  from  Annie. 

"Why  will  you  not  give  me  the  right  to  protect  you 
against  insult  and  calumny,"  he  asked  in  anger  and  in 
dignation. 

Later  in  the  evening  when  Paul  came  in  with  the  milk 
bucket,  he  said,  referring  to  her  visitor  of  that  day, 

"Ach  Gott,  Annie ;  danah  Rommit  aber  was ;  something 
will  come  after  this,  sure." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

What  did  come  after  this  was  Mr.  Winters'  sister,  Mrs. 
Higginson.  And  she  came  unheralded,  as  the  other  vis 
itor  had  come,  but  she  found  Annie  on  the  kitchen  floor, 
scrubbing,  her  dress  tucked  up  and  heavy  shoes  on  her 
feet.  Cobby  was  swinging  in  a  hammock  on  the  kitchen 
porch — a  hammock  of  Annie's  own  construction,  out  of 
which  he  could  be  neither  shaken  nor  tumbled  by  the 
other  "childers."  These  others  were  characteristically 
employed — Trixy  picking  up  chips  to  build  the  fire  with, 
Bobby  eating  an  extra  chunk  of  gingerbread  on  the 
porch  steps. 

"Just  as  Bridget  described  her,  red  hair  and  all";  this 
was  Mrs.  Higginson's  greeting,  though  she  addressed 
it  to  herself. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Higginson,  then,"  was  Annie's  reply, 
"and  I  hope  you  left  Bridget  well." 

"Finish  the  floor,  my  girl,"  said  the  old  lady,  just  as 
Bridget  would  have  said  it;  "I  can  find  my  way  upstairs 
alone." 

Mrs.  Higginson  was  many  years  the  senior  of  Mr. 
Winters,  and  when  they  met  she  greeted  him  as  a  mother 
would  greet  a  son,  though  she  always  called  him 
Brother  John,  and  he  called  her  Sister  Jane.  Though 
thin  and  angular  there  was  a  certain  dignity  about  Sister 
Jane,  not  incompatible,  as  Annie  found,  with  a  large  de 
gree  of  "comfortableness"  that  seemed  to  radiate  from 
her  wherever  she  went.  She  was  in  the  kitchen  with 
Annie  and  she  was  in  the  office  with  Brother  John;  she 


HER  RED  HAIR  113 

had  the  two  older  children  with  her  on  the  lawn,  and 
she  was  with  Paul  in  the  nursery  garden,  admiring  the 
order  in  which  he  kept  the  grounds.  She  was  neither 
watching  nor  prying,  but  she  had  a  way  of  seeing  what 
she  wanted  to  see,  without  seeming  to  see  it. 

One  day  as  brother  and  sister  were  looking  through 
some  papers  in  the  office,  Mrs.  Higginson  spied  Annie 
through  the  kitchen  window  that  looked  on  the  gallery, 
working  over  some  refractory  butter  till  her  face  was 
red  with  exertion. 

"Some  men  would  have  sense  enough  to  marry  a 
woman  that  left  her  hair  in  its  natural  color  and  didn't 
wear  powder  on  her  face  an  inch  deep,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Higginson. 

To  which  Mr.  Winters  replied  a  little  impatiently: 

"Some  men  have  sense  enough  not  to  reach  out  for 
what  they  cannot  get." 

"That's  nonsense,  Brother  John." 

"That's  very  sound  sense,  Sister  Jane." 

But  full  of  sense  as  this  conversation  was,  it  came  to 
an  end  right  there ;  and  Mrs.  Higginson's  visit  came  to 
an  end  soon  after.  She  gave  Annie  a  hearty  smack  on 
the  cheek,  when  she  left. 

"You've  been  a  mother  to  those  children,  God  bless 
you !"  she  said.  "Bridget  did  not  say  one  word  too  much 
about  you." 

In  the  evening  Paul  confided  to  Annie  that  he  had 
driven  Mrs.  Higginson  to  the  post  office  before  taking 
her  to  the  train,  and  the  olle  Hexe,  Mrs.  Ault,  had  gotten 
a  piece  of  Sister  Jane's  mind. 

Annie  had  never  again  dared  to  ask  in  regard  to  the 
matter  that  was  of  so  much  interest  to  her.  It  grieved 


114        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

her  to  see  her  employer's  handsome  sun-browned  face 
grow  thin;  it  was  not  financial  trouble  alone  that  was 
weighing  on  him,  she  knew  that ;  for  his  sister  was  will 
ing  and  able  to  help  him.  From  something  that  was  said 
in  her  presence  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Higginson  was  try 
ing  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  assignment  of  the  claim, 
though  it  was  evident  she  did  not  know  the  relation  in 
which  Annie  stood  to  the  scoundrel  whom  she  had  known 
as  a  small  boy. 

A  number  of  letters  and  telegrams  passed  back  and 
forth  between  sister  and  brother,  after  Mrs.  Higginson's 
visit,  and  then,  one  day,  John  Winters  told  Annie  that 
he  must  leave  her — for  how  long  he  could  not  tell. 
Should  he  send  for  Bridget?  Did  she  want  any  other 
help  or  company? 

His  speaking  eyes  hung  upon  her  after  asking  these 
questions  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"It  may  be  that — that  there  will  be  trouble;  I  cannot 
yet  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  assignment  business,  and 
I  will  let  no  man  slander  or  traduce  an  innocent  woman." 
"Oh!  Annie!"  he  burst  out  again,  "how  can  I  go  and 
leave  you  so?  Why  will  you  not  give  me  the  right  to 
shield  you  from  further  wrong — to  protect  you — to 
avenge  you?" 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  again  she  said : 

"I  am  that  man's  wife.  And  though,  while  I  live  he 
shall  never  lay  his  hand  on  me  again,  I  am  still  his  wife, 
before  God,  and  my  conscience." 

"And  must  I  sit  forever  lonely  on  a  cold  hearthstone  ?" 
he  asked  in  despair. 

"A  hand  other  than  mine  may  some  day  kindle  again 
the  flame  in  your  bosom  and  on  your  hearthstone,"  she 


HER  RED  HAIR  115 

made  answer;  but  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  her  frame  shook  with  convulsive  sobs. 

He  drew  the  hands  tenderly  from  her  face  and  passion 
ately  kissed  away  the  traces  of  tears  on  them. 

"Then  I  am  not  indifferent  to  you  at  least,  I  thank 
God  for  that" ;  he  said  fervently. 

The  summer  had  passed,  and  after  the  first  rains,  the 
skies  seemed  brighter,  the  air  clearer,  the  roses  more 
fragrant,  the  wealth  of  bloom  in  the  garden  greater  than 
before.  There  were  days,  to  be  sure,  when  the  fog  drift 
ing  in  from  the  distant  Bay,  lay  heavy  on  the  earth  as  on 
Annie's  heart:  she  had  decided  that  she  must  not  remain 
here.  For  long  days  she  walked  through  the  house, 
through  the  garden  and  through  the  conservatory — 
which  she  still  loved  for  the  inexpressible  pleasure  it  had 
given  her  the  first  time  she  saw  it.  She  wandered  from 
one  spot  to  the  other,  bidding  all  farewell.  After  restless 
days  and  nights  spent  in  weeping,  she  had  decided  she 
must  leave  the  place  that  had  been  more  like  home  to  her 
than  she  had  known  since  her  mother's  death.  But  leave 
it  she  must. 

One  thing,  however,  she  had  quite  determined ;  Cobby 
should  go  with  her,  him  she  would  not  leave  here.  Her 
plan  was  to  unbosom  herself  to  Mrs.  Higginson,  and  beg 
of  her  on  bended  knees,  to  let  her  come  to  live  at  her 
house  with  Cobby,  while  Bridget  should  go  back  to  take 
care  of  the  home  at  the  Nursery.  She  would  tell  Bridget 
everything,  too.  Oh !  she  well  knew  the  big  heart  the 
Irish  woman  had. 

Still,  misgivings  would  come.  She  brought  nothing 
but  trouble  to  John  Winters'  home  and  to  himself,  how 
could  she  expect  that  they  should  care  whether  her  heart 


116        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

broke  or  not,  when  she  turned  her  back  on  the  home  she 
had  found  here.  She  was  well-nigh  distracted  with  her 
own  thoughts;  and  when  Paul  came  to  tell  her  that  he 
would  have  to  leave  by  the  earliest  train  the  next  morn 
ing,  and  would  have  to  remain  over  one  night  in 
San  Francisco,  she  was  half  tempted  to  tell  the  honest 
fellow  to  prepare  Bridget  for  her  coming. 

It  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Carter,  the  wife  of  the  fore 
man  on  the  ranch,  remain  with  Annie  over  night,  Mr. 
Carter  to  do  "the  chores"  in  Paul's  place. 

With  feverish  impatience  she  waited  for  Paul  to  re 
turn;  she  dreaded  and  yet  longed  to  hear  from  the  man 
she  loved  and  whose  heart  she  was  so  cruelly  lacerating. 

When  Paul  came,  he  brought  her  a  book  which  she 
had  long  wanted  to  read,  and  which  Mr.  Winters  told 
her  in  a  note  he  sent  with  it,  he  himself  had  read  first. 
She  took  the  volume  to  her  own  room  before  she  opened 
it ;  even  the  wrapper  she  kissed.  Had  not  his  dear  hand 
put  this  newspaper  around  the  book?  The  newspaper, 
old  as  it  was,  had  to  be  read,  too;  and  she  smiled  at  her 
own  folly  as  she  glanced  over  it. 

Then  suddenly  a  scream  rang  through  the  house.  Paul 
came  running,  and  the  children  howled  simultaneously, 
while  Annie,  quickly  recovering,  though  hysterical,  de 
clared  between  laughing  and  crying  that  Paul  would 
have  to  take  a  telegram  to  the  office  at  once. 

Thinking  it  an  answer  to  something  contained  in  the 
letter,  he  had  a  horse  at  the  door  by  the  time  she  had  the 
telegram  written, 


CHAPTER  X. 

All  through  the  day  Annie  was  thoughtful  but  happy ; 
she  kissed  Cobby  to  his  heart's  content,  called  him  "An 
nie's  own  Cobby,"  and  held  him  by  both  hands  in  his 
first  attempt  to  walk.  And  still  the  hours  seemed  to 
drag  along  on  leaden  feet.  But  the  night  passed,  she 
would  not  have  long  to  wait ;  and  she  took  care  to  be  in 
the  sitting  room,  with  all  the  children  well  out  of  the 
way,  when  John  Winters  came  hurrying  in.  Her  heart 
smote  her  when  she  saw  his  hollow  eyes  and  his  dishev 
eled  appearance;  but  his  face  lighted  up  with  sudden 
happiness  when  she  sprang  forward  to  meet  him. 

"Annie !"  he  cried,  as  he  folded  her  in  his  arms,  "have 
you  relented?  You  have  glad  news  for  me,  dearest?" 

"No,"  she  replied,  "it  is  sad  news,  for  it  is  news  of  a 
death.  But  it  sets  me  free — "  and  she  returned  the  kiss 
he  pressed  on  her  lips. 

Then  she  pointed  out  to  him  the  paragraph  in  the  old 
newspaper,  speaking  of  the  killing  of  Harry  Fulton  in  a 
gambling  den  in  New  Orleans.  He  had  been  an  Im- 
pressario,  the  paper  went  on  to  say — correct  as  papers 
always  are — but  his  wife's  desertion  had  driven  him  to 
dissipation.  His  friends,  fearing  the  worst,  had  taken 
charge  of  his  affairs  some  time  before  his  death,  alleg 
ing  that  he  was  not  capable  of  transacting  business  for 
himself  rationally. 

"Bridget  must  come,"  he  said  the  moment  he  stopped 
reading. 

"At  once,"  added  Annie. 


118        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"And  we  must  be  married  directly,"  he  went  on. 

"There's  no  hurry/'  she  retorted  saucily. 

"You  are  never  to  contradict  me,"  he  said  with  great 
severity,  and  she  replied  "no,"  with  equal  humility. 

Then  they  laughed  like  children,  in  their  new-found 
happiness,  and  never  noticed  that  Paul,  with  his  eyes 
bulging  out  of  his  broad,  good-natured  face,  retreated 
from  the  door  as  speedily  and  softly  as  his  clumsy  boots 
would  permit.  When  he  got  well  outside  he  slapped 
alternately  his  right  leg  and  his  left,  as  he  ran  laughing 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  and  never  stopped  till 
he  was  safely  in  the  cow-yard.  Once  landed  there  he 
slapped  the  fat  sides  of  Brown  Bess  till  she  remonstrated 
by  tossing  her  horns  and  throwing  up  her  heels. 

"Ach  Gott,"  he  said  soothingly  to  his  four-footed 
friend,  "wie  mich  das  frent — wie  mich  frent?  What  will 
the  olle  Hexe,  Mrs.  Ault,  say;  and  Bridget — ach  Gott  ja 
—Bridget!" 

Then  he  ran  his  ten  fingers  through  his  shock  of  straw- 
colored  hair  till  each  hair  stood  out  at  right  angles  from 
his  head,  and  in  this  conditon  he  returned  to  the  house. 

No  matter  how  hard  he  tried  to  control  his  features 
he  laughed  out  aloud  when  he  found  that  Annie  had 
forgotten  to  salt  the  potatoes  and  insinuated  that  in  his 
country  it  was  just  the  other  way;  when  the  cook  was 
in  love  the  victuals  were  too  much  salted ;  and  Mr.  Win 
ters  said  approvingly : 

"Paul,  if  Bridget  were  here  she  would  call  you  a  'broth 
of  a  boy/  " 

Then  Paul  learned  that  "the  boss"  was  going  back  to 
San  Francisco  tomorrow,  to  send  Bridget  over  in  his 
place ;  and  Paul  only  said  "Aha — Bridget." 


HER  RED  HAIR  119 

Such  a  meeting  as  it  was  between  Annie  and  her  faith 
ful  friend!  Mr.  Winters,  although  he  had  explained  all 
the  circumstances  to  his  sister,  had  left  it  for  Annie  to 
tell  Bridget  as  much  as  she  saw  fit;  and  almost  the  entire 
day  of  her  return  was  consumed  in  telling  her  all.  That 
Paul  learned  a  good  deal  of  it  before  the  day  was  over 
was  only  natural  and  not  objectionable  to  Annie,  for  she 
had  a  sincere  liking  for  the  young  German  and  he  had 
been  a  steadfast  friend. 

When  Mr.  Winters  returned  and  brought  an  invitation 
from  his  sister  to  Annie,  she  felt  she  must  go,  but,  she 
asked,  how  could  she  leave  Cobby? 

"And  his  father,"  asked  Mr.  Winters,  to  which  Annie 
answered  that  his  conceit  would  keep  him  from  missing 
her,  and  Mr.  Winters  rejoined  that  Annie  didn't  have  her 
red  hair  for  nothing. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  how  badly  Mr.  Winters  bore 
Annie's  departure  and  absence ;  and  it  required  the  exer 
cise  of  all  the  authority  his  sister  had  ever  had  over  him, 
to  compel  him  to  submit  to  the  separation. 

When  he  was  allowed  to  come  to  the  city  at  last, 
neither  Bridget  nor  Paul  were  informed  for  what  purpose 
it  was;  but  when  he  had  gone  nearly  a  week,  Mrs.  Hig- 
ginson  came  over  and  informed  Bridget,  who  informed 
Paul,  that  "the  boss"  and  Annie  were  married  and  had 
gone  on  their  "tower." 

Mrs.  Higginson  had  not  come  alone;  the  elderly  man 
who  came  with  her  closely  inspected  every  room  in  the 
house,  submitted  a  long  list  he  had  made  out  to  Mrs. 
Higginson,  and  this  lady  gave  him  carte  blanc  to  put  in 
the  house  every  bit  of  furniture,  upholstery  and  carpeting 
which  he  had  marked  down. 


120        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

To  Bridget  she  said  that  Constancia,  whose  ambitoin 
had  taken  quite  a  tumble  since  her  husband's  death,  had 
accepted  the  hand  of  a  San  Francisco  laundry-man,  and 
that  the  entire  furniture  of  the  other  half  of  the  house — 
the  grand  piano  included — was  to  be  given  her  as  a  wed 
ding  present.  Mrs.  Higginson  had  seen  Mrs.  Ault  on 
her  way  from  the  city,  and  the  things  would  be  removed 
at  once,  as  the  whole  house  would  be  refurnished  before 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winters  returned  to  their  home. 

Busy  days  were  those  at  the  Nursery.  Mrs.  Higgin 
son  had  engaged  so  much  extra  help  that  Paul  and 
Bridget  did  little  more  than  stand  around  and  admire 
each  new  carpet  as  it  was  laid,  each  new  article  of  furni 
ture  as  it  was  placed. 

"And — d'ye  moind,  Dutchy,"  said  Bridget,  nudging 
him,  "there's  to  be  two  rooms  furnished  and  set  aside  for 
me  missus  when  we  come  to  spend  summer  here;  and 
there's  to  be  an  extra  'sweet'  of  rooms  furnished  in  our 
house  in  town  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winters  when  they  come 
to  see  us  in  winter." 

When  all  was  ready  Mrs.  Higginson  returned  to  San 
Francisco,  leaving  Bridget  to  welcome  the  couple  home. 
Now  at  last  Paul  found  an  opportunity  to  "spread  him 
self,"  as  Bridget  said.  To  do  him  justice  he  had  both 
taste  and  judgment  in  his  line;  the  decorations  were 
really  handsome;  and  the  flowers  composing  the  bou 
quets  the  children  carried  and  were  to  present,  were  well 
chosen  for  the  occasion. 

To  be  sure,  no  one  knew  that  Trixy  had  prepared  an 
extra  surprise  different  from  the  one  Bridget  had  planned 
for  Annie.  For  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winters  approached 
the  house  Bridget  threw  the  front  door  open  and  Cobby 


HER  RED  HAIR  121 

toddled  out,  unaided,  though  a  little  "groggy  on  his 
pins,"  murmuring  "Mamma,  mamma,  mamma!"  and  An 
nie,  stooping,  caught  him  lovingly  in  her  arms. 

"Mamma's  own  Cobby,"  she  whispered;  "Mamma's 
very  own." 

Mr.  Winters  in  the  meantime  having  duly  shaken 
hands  with  Paul  and  Bridget,  had  not  noticed  how  Trixy 
had  loaded  Bobby  down  with  both  bouquets  while  she 
drew  from  a  clump  of  dahlias  standing  near,  a  beau 
tifully  striped  little  garter  snake,  caught  fresh  that  morn 
ing,  and  held  fast,  around  the  neck,  with  the  young  lady's 
brand  new  hair  ribbon  which  Bridget  had  vainly  hunted 
for.  Dragging  the  reptile  after  her,  she  approached 
"Mamma"  with  her  lips  screwed  up  for  a  kiss ;  and  while 
she  raised  Trixy  in  her  arms  for  the  caress,  the  snake 
writhed  and  wriggled  frantically  in  the  air,  striving 
vainly  to  find  a  foothold  somewhere.  But  Annie  bore 
the  sight  of  the  snake  with  much  more  fortitude  than 
she  had  displayed  when  this  same  young  lady  had  pre 
sented  her  with  a  baby  horned-toad  on  an  envelope,  some 
time  ago. 

At  last  the  young  wife  had  her  hands  free  for  the  faith 
ful  Bridget,  who  congratulated  and  wished  joy  to  Mrs. 
Winters. 

"No,  no — "  remonstrated  this  lady  with  her  arm 
around  the  Irish  woman's  shoulders,  "I  must  always  be 
'Annie'  to  you." 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  mail-rider  clashed 
into  camp — alone,  on  a  crowbait  of  a  horse,  with  bridle 
of  hair-rope,  plainly  an  Indian  outfit,  and  neither  horse 
nor  rider  seemingly  pleased  with  each  other. 

Both  officers  and  men  of  Fort  Greengate  had  been 
watching  for  Murphy  and  Doyle  with  more  or  less  open 
ly  expressed  uneasiness  and  the  Colonel  stepped  forward 
at  once  as  the  man  threw  himself  from  his  bony  steed. 

"Where's  Doyle?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"Wid  me  dead  Kitty,  Colonel,  and  along  of  his  own 
horse  and  the  three  of  'em  dead  together."  And  without 
the  slightest  regard  to  discipline  or  politeness,  Murphy 
turned  his  back  on  his  commanding  officer,  hid  his 
sweaty,  dust-begrimed  face  against  the  lea*n  neck  of  the 
wretchedly  tired  horse  and  sobbed. 

Among  the  men  who  had  crowded  around,  many  an 
uncovered  head  was  seen.  There  was  momentary  silence 
and  then  Sergeant  Brown,  in  obedience  to  a  nod  from  the 
Colonel,  approached  his  comrade;  Murphy  turned,  sa 
luted  the  Colonel  and  handed  over  to  the  Sergeant  the 
package  of  mail  he  had  brought. 

"There's  a  letter  or  two  there  for  the  Colonel's  wife," 
he  said  to  the  Sergeant,  "do  you  give  them  to  her  at 
once;  you  know  how  anxious  she  always  is  to  get  her 
mail."  Then  he  advanced  to  make  his  report,  the  Colonel 
calling  to  one  of  the  men : 

"Have  the  cook  prepare  the  best  there  is  for  Murphy, 
and  now,  come  with  me,  my  man." 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  123 

In  order  to  lose  no  time  the  Colonel  listened  to  Mur 
phy's  report  on  their  way  to  the  Adjutant's  office,  and 
before  the  man  had  finished  the  directions  to  the  spot 
where  the  mail-rider  and  his  escort  had  turned  out  in 
their  attempt  to  escape  the  unlooked-for  attack,  the  blare 
of  the  bugle  rang  out  over  the  tents  and  adobe-quarters 
of  Fort  Greengate,  telling  of  the  preparations  making  to 
pursue  the  murderous  Apaches  at  once. 

Fort  Greengate  was  an  important  post,  and  Colonel 
Tremayne  had  been  placed  in  command  of  it  because  it 
was  a  difficult  task  to  reduce  the  hostile  Indians  who  had 
grown  rampant  while  the  fort  had  been  abandoned  dur 
ing  the  war,  without  offending  those  Indians  who  really 
were,  or  wished  to  pose  as  friends  of  the  white  man. 
And  Colonel  Tremayne,  selected  by  the  department  com 
mander  for  this  post,  though  owing  his  rapid  advance 
ment  more  to  distinguished  services  than  to  seniority, 
was  not  a  young  hotspur  fresh  from  West  Point. 

Not  till  the  detail  was  ready  to  leave  camp  did  the 
Colonel  permit  himself  to  think  of  his  own  affairs  and 
of  the  young  wife  to  whom  he  must  bid  adieu  for  the  first 
time  since  her  brief  sojourn  at  the  post.  Hurriedly  ap 
proaching  his  quarters,  he  drew  aside  from  the  doorway 
the  blanket  which  served  to  keep  out  the  glaring  sun, 
while  it  admitted  any  breeze  that  might  be  passing. 
The  room  he  entered  was  comparatively  dark,  for  the 
window  without  sash,  of  course,  had  also  been  hung  with 
some  dark,  heavy  material,  drawn  clear  across  the  open 
ing.  Pausing  a  second,  he  discovered  the  figure  which 
his  eye  sought,  stretched  upon  the  bed,  the  face  resting 
on  the  arms  crossed  upon  the  pillow.  He  stepped  to  the 


124        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

couch,  gently  raised  the  head  and  kissed  the  tear-wet 
face. 

"Come,  my  pet,"  he  said  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice, 
"you  must  not  cry  like  that.  A  soldier's  wife  must  be 
brave ;  do  not  grieve  while  I  am  away,  it  will  only  make 
my  duty  harder." 

But  sobs  alone  answered  him;  the  little  hands  tried 
hard  to  hide  the  tear-stained  face,  and  kissing  her  hair, 
her  hands  and  her  forehead,  he  laid  her  light  form  gently 
down  and  hastened  out  without  looking  back. 

The  brisk  bugle  notes  cut  the  air  again,  and  the  young 
wife  sprang  up,  flung  back  the  curtain  and  looked  out. 
Colonel  Tremayne's  form  towered  above  all  men  of  his 
command;  the  slouch  hat  and  rough  dress  could  not 
make  an  ordinary-looking  man  of  him,  and  well  might 
any  woman  be  proud  to  call  him  her  own.  But  the  young 
wife  wrung  her  hands  as  she  gazed  after  him. 

"False!"  she  cried  passionately.  "False  to  me  and 
false  to  that  other  woman!  How  could  he  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  disgrace  me  so?  Traitor — yes,  traitor  to  both." 
She  clinched  her  little  fists;  but  even  as  the  column  fast 
receded  from  sight,  her  mood  grew  softer  and  she  called 
out  sadly:  "Adieu,  my  dream  of  bliss  and  happiness! 
Now  comes  my  punishment,  for  I,  too,  have  been  false  to 
my  first  love  and  will  soon  lie  within  a  grave  as  lonely 
and  neglected  as  the  one  in  which  lies  that  poor  boy." 

She  drew  a  letter  from  under  her  pillow  and  without 
unfolding  it,  she  repeated  to  herself :  "And  water  stands 
in  the  neglected  grave  where  it  has  sunken  in  from  the 
winter's  frost  and  the  thaws  of  spring." 

"I  must  go,"  she  said  with  sudden  determination;  "go 
ere  the  woman  carries  out  her  threat.  She  is  right.  How 


THE  YOUNG  COLONEL'S  WIFE  125 

could  I  believe  that  I  had  won  for  my  own  the  man  who 
belongs  to  another  woman — heart  and  hand?  But  it  will 
kill  me,  oh,  it  will  kill  me !"  and  the  poor,  helpless  woman 
pressed  her  hot  fingers  to  her  aching  head. 

In  the  meantime  the  men  had  crowded  around  Mur 
phy  as  soon  as  he  was  free,  and  not  only  had  the  cook 
produced  the  best  he  had,  but  Murphy's  friends  had  pur 
chased  almost  the  entire  stock  at  the  sutler  store,  prin 
cipally  oysters,  lobsters,  sardines  and  tobacco.  All  these 
delicacies  were  spread  temptingly  on  the  rough  table  in 
the  company  cook  house  and  benches  and  seats  were  at 
a  premium  here.  Those  who  could  find  none  squatted 
down  along  the  adobe  wall  or  stood  leaning  up  against 
this  support.  While  Murphy  was  appeasing  his  right 
eous  appetite,  they  conversed  among  themselves,  but 
when  Murphy  struck  a  match  to  light  his  new  pipe  with, 
every  eye  became  fastened  on  him  at  once. 

"D'ye  see,  boys,"  he  began,  "the  night  before  we  left 
Tucson  I  dreamed  that  me  mother,  dead  and  wid  the 
saints  these  ten  years,  came  to  me  and  she  says,  says  she, 
Tat,  me  boy,  it's  a  hard  road  ye've  got  to  travel,'  and  she 
shuk  her  head  and  was  gone." 

A  solemn  pause,  and  then  he  continued :  "I  didn't  tell 
Doyle  about  it,  but  I  thought  he  looked  kind  o'  down  in 
the  mouth  himself  when  we  left  camp.  We  stopped  at 
the  Water-holes  about  sundown,  got  our  supper  and 
rested  our  horses  till  3  o'clock  this  morning,  and  never 
saw  sign  of  an  Indian,  look  as  sharp  as  we  might.  After 
we  had  passed  the  Cienega,  along  about  9  o'clock,  we 
had  just  concluded  to  rest  before  we  reached  the  sand 
hills,  when  all  at  once  the  whole  d — d  plain  seemed  alive 
with  Indians.  Such  yelling  and  howling,  such  flying  of 


126        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

shot  and  arrows  you  never  heard  in  all  your  life.  Where 
they  came  from  I  don't  know ;  but  it  seems  to  me  there 
wasn't  a  bush  or  a  weed  three  inches  high  that  a  full- 
grown  Injun,  pony  and  all,  didn't  rise  up  behind.  We 
put  spurs  to  our  beasts — though  it  wasn't  needed;  once 
they  heard  the  yells  they  flew  like  the  wind.  Purty 
soon  the  redskins  got  into  line,  and  I  knew  there  was  no 
escape  for  us  in  flight — for  they  commenced  to  hem  us 
in — you  know  the  way  the  red  devils  do,  circling  'round, 
single  file,  each  giving  a  shot  in  passing,  and  the  first  of 
them  ready  to  attack  us  in  the  rear  while  the  last  one 
was  firing  at  us  in  front.  'Tom,'  says  I,  'we'll  have  to 
make  breastworks  of  our  horses — me  poor  Kitty,  I  can't 
kill  her.'  'Nor  I  my  sorrel,'  says  Tom.  'But  it's  got  to 
be  done,'  says  I,  'and  quick.'  And  I  sprang  to  the  sorrel's 
head  as  Tom  jumped  down  and  caught  Kitty  by  the 
bridle  and  they  fell  almost  together;  and  the  Injuns  were 
on  us  in  good  earnest  by  that  time.  The  very  first  shot 
that  Tom  fired  brought  down  a  redskin,  but  he  must 
have  been  tied  to  the  horse,  for  he  never  fell  to  the 
ground,  though  I  swear  I  saw  his  carcass  swinging  on 
the  other  side  of  the  horse.  By  this  time  they  were 
howling  like  mad,  and  things  were  getting  redhot.  I — 
tell— you !" 

He  rested  his  hands  on  his  knees  a  moment,  laid  down 
his  pipe,  and  continued : 

"But  they  got  their  revenge  for  that  worthless  brute. 
Every  devil  in  the  pack  took  deliberate  aim  at  poor  Tom 
from  that  moment,  and  Tom  knew  it,  too.  Says  he : 
'They'll  get  away  with  me  first,'  says  he,  and  he'd  hardly 
said  it,  when  his  carbine  dropped  and  all  he  said  was, 
'God  help  you,  Pat/  " 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  127 

The  trooper  picked  up  his  pipe  again,  looked  at  it  medi 
tatively,  and  said:  "Now — I  don't  quite  understand 
what  followed.  You  know  where  the  trail  comes  in  from 
Calabasas  there;  between  the  sand  hills?  Well,  I 
thought  I'd  spied  something  coming  along  there,  but  I'd 
said  nothing  for  fear  we  both  might  be  disappointed  if  it 
was  more  Injuns  instead  of  some  of  the  settlers  there,  or 
maybe  some  of  the  men  from  Camp  Hallen.  But  when 
they  picked  Tom  off,  I  just  cast  my  eyes  that  way,  and 
here  there  was  a  whole  war  party  of  Injuns  come 
swinging  round  that  last  curve  in  the  hills.  Of  course, 
they  could  see  at  a  glance  that  there  was  only  one  poor 
wretch  left  to  kill  off,  and  for  that  reason  only  one  of 
them  raised  his  rifle,  took  good  aim  at  me  and — brought 
down  a  redskin  flying  past  with  his  gun  leveled  at  me 
ready  to  shoot.  Such  yelling  and  shouting,  and  racing 
and  ra'rin'  as  there  was  then!  But  the  shot  that  was 
intended  for  me  and  killed  the  Injun,  must  have  struck 
the  horse  somewhere,  for  he  leaped  clear  over  me,  and  as 
he  lost  his  Injun  I  just  grabbed  him  by  the  lariat  rope, 
swung  myself  on,  and  left  them  to  fight  over  the  mishap 
all  they  liked.  But  I  can't  make  it  out;  come  to  think  of 
it,  that  they  kept  up  the  firing  behind  me,  but  neither 
bullets  nor  arrows  came  my  way.  When  the  Colonel 
gets  back  I  must  report  it  to  him,  for  it's  mighty  queer 
in  my  opinion." 

The  whole  crowd  went  into  details,  each  particular 
phase  of  the  attack  was  compared  with  other  attacks  and 
fights  in  which  the  soldiers  had  been  engaged ;  but  this 
thing  of  one  Injun  killing  another  instead  of  the  white 
man  he  had  aimed  at  was  a  new  feature  entirely  in  Indian 
fights. 


128        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

After  awhile  the  sun  went  down  on  Fort  Greengate, 
and  the  Colonel's  young  wife  was  not  yet  to  be  seen. 
Her  horse,  anxious  for  his  evening's  run,  had  come  whin 
nying  up  to  the  Colonel's  quarters,  for  the  side  saddle  was 
kept  there,  and  it  was  the  Colonel's  boast  that  his  wife 
could  saddle  her  horse  as  well  as  the  best  trooper  could 
doit. 

Later  still,  Sergeant  Brown  passing  along,  laid  hold  of 
his  mane  and  led  him  away,  knowing  that  his  mistress 
was  quite  ill  from  the  shock  of  being  left  alone  in  camp 
for  the  first  time.  He  knew  it,  because  Mrs.  Wood,  the 
laundress  of  Fort  Greengate,  had  told  him  so.  She  had 
waited  on  the  Colonel's  lady,  according  to  his  directions, 
but  she  found  she  had  cried  herself  to  sleep  like  the  child 
she  was.  Bless  her  heart ! 

Water  call,  Stable  call,  and  Retreat  had  all  sounded, 
and  still  the  curtains  hung  close  about  the  door  and  win 
dows  of  the  Colonel's  house.  But  the  Colonel's  wife 
was  not  there. 

The  doctor,  coming  from  the  hospital  tent,  where  he 
had  half  a  dozen  cases  of  Arizona  fever,  had  extended 
his  walk  in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  Outside  the  lines 
he  came  suddenly  upon  a  figure  moving  wearily  toward 
him, — the  Colonel's  young  wife.  Her  face  scarlet,  her  hair 
hanging  loose  over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  she  was 
weeping  softly  to  herself  like  a  lost  child.  To  all  appear 
ances  she  did  not  see  him,  and  the  doctor's  first  impulse 
was  to  make  his  presence  known,  but  his  conviction  was 
that  he  had  another  patient  with  malarial  fever,  and  gent 
ly  accosting  her,  he  held  out  his  hand  in  greeting.  But 
she  only  looked  at  him  with  dull,  unseeing  eyes. 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  129 

"I  am  going  to  his  grave,"  she  said :  "His  poor,  neg 
lected  grave,  sunken  in  from  the  frosts  of  winter  and  the 
thaws  of  spring  and  standing  full  of  water." 

"Certainly  we'll  go  there,"  said  the  doctor  soothingly, 
"and  we'll  plant  flowers  on  his  poor,  neglected  grave; 
roses  and — forget-me-nots,  to  be  sure."  And  he  drew 
her  hand  through  his  arm  and  led  her  silently  back  to 
the  post;  But  through  his  mind  there  ran  stories  of  a 
handsome,  dissipated  young  lieutenant,  a  cousin  of  the 
Colonel's,  to  whom  they  said  she  had  been  engaged.  The 
father  had  broken  off  the  match  and  Elsie,  they  said, 
had  been  quite  willing  to  marry  the  older  cousin  when 
she  became  convinced  that  he  loved  her  and — was  to  be 
Colonel  of  the  106th  cavalry,  but  then— "they"  will  talk, 
in  camp  and  court  alike. 

Passing  by  the  tent  of  the  laundress,  the  doctor  gave 
signs  to  follow  them  and  directed  the  woman  to  put  the 
young  wife  to  bed,  while  he  sent  to  the  hospital  steward 
for  the  soothing  draught  he  wanted  to  give  her.  Then 
he  came  back  once  more  just  before  taps,  found  Mrs. 
Tremayne  asleep  in  bed  and  Mrs.  Wood  snoring  on  an 
improvised  couch  beside  her,  and  went  home  himself  to 
sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

What  consternation  there  was  the  next  morning  when 
neither  the  Colonel's  young  wife  nor  her  horse  could  be 
found  within  the  precincts  of  Fort  Greengate,  it  is  hard 
to  describe.  But  the  officer,  left  in  command  by  the 
Colonel,  immediately  detailed  six  picked  men,  under  Ser 
geant  Brown,  to  follow  the  poor  lady,  who,  according  to 
the  doctor's  statement,  had  left  camp  in  the  delirium  of 
fever. 


130        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Across  the  burning  plain,  in  the  meantime,  dashed  the 
frenzied  creature,  who  was  flying  from  fancied  disgrace, 
and  who  meant  to  make  atonement  by  kneeling  at  the 
grave  so  reproachfully  charged  to  her  fickleness.  On  she 
sped,  the  horse  could  race  no  faster  than  her  thoughts 
and  wishes  flew.  Whither  she  went  she  neither  knew 
nor  cared,  so  long  as  every  leap  of  the  horse  left  more 
space  between  her  and  the  home  she  must  never  again 
claim.  The  sun  scorched  her  face  and  blinded  her  eyes, 
for  she  had  no  hat  to  draw  down  over  them ;  if  she  had 
had  one  when  she  left  the  post  she  must  have  lost  it 
since. 

There  must  be  a  veil  in  the  pocket  of  her  saddle,  she 
now  remembered,  and  she  tried  to  check  the  mad  gallop 
to  which  for  hours  she  had  been  urging  her  horse.  But 
she  found  she  could  not  control  him ;  no  horse  could  be 
held  with  an  Indian  on  either  side  of  him  in  pursuit. 

Near  sundown  that  day  the  Colonel,  with  men  and 
horses  worn  and  jaded,  returned  to  Fort  Greengate. 
They  had  buried  Tom  Doyle  and  marked  his  grave. 
Poor  Kitty  and  Tom's  sorrel  had  been  covered  with  sand 
and  what  straggling  brush  could  be  found,  though  the 
coyotes  would  soon  scratch  them  out  again  and  hold 
high  jinks  on  the  fallen  steeds. 

Wichard,  the  guide  and  scout,  who  could  read  "Indian 
signs"  better  than  any  white  man  in  the  territory,  had 
declared  that  two  tribes,  hostile  to  each  other,  had  had  a 
tilt  here  on  this  spot.  He  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
two  mail  riders  had  been  attacked  by  the  Coyoteres,  while 
these  in  turn  had  been  "jumped"  by  the  Mescalero 
Apaches. 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  131 

To  the  doctor  had  fallen  the  lot  to  break  the  news  of 
his  young  wife's  straying  from  camp  to  the  Colonel. 
His  brown  cheek  grew  ashen  while  he  listened,  and  the 
officer  he  had  left  in  command  hastened  to  tell  of  the  ex 
pedition  sent  out  early  in  the  morning,  adding  that  every 
enlisted  man,  as  well  as  every  officer  in  the  garrison, 
had  begged  permission  to  join  the  column  which  would 
doubtless  leave  Fort  Greengate  at  daybreak  tomorrow. 

"Tell  them  that  I  thank  them  all,"  he  said  huskily, 
"and  that  I  shall  need  some  of  them  tomorrow."  But 
when  he  reached  his  quarters  he  hunted  keenly  for  any 
note  or  scrap  of  writing  which  his  young  wife  might 
have  left,  in  spite  of  what  the  doctor  had  said  about  her 
going  away  in  the  delirium  of  fever.  While  so  engaged 
Wichard,  the  guide,  came  to  report  to  him  the  conclu 
sion  he  had  arrived  at  since  seeing  Murphy  on  his  re 
turn.  He  said  positively  that  the  man's  life  had  been 
saved  by  the  Mescaleros,  who  had  come  up  to  the  Coyo- 
teres  with  hostile  intent.  As  the  friendly  Mescaleros  were 
among  the  best  governed  of  all  Apache  tribes,  while  the 
Coyoteres  were  vagrant,  as  well  as  hostile,  it  was  quite 
probable  that  the  Colonel's  lady,  as  well  as  Sergeant 
Brown  and  his  little  band,  were  perfectly  safe;  for  the 
Coyoteres,  so  lately  punished,  would  not  take  the  war 
path  again  in  the  near  future. 

There  was  reason  in  what  the  scout  said — the  Colonel 
knew  it;  and  after  the  doctor  and  some  of  the  officers 
had  come  to  bid  their  commander  good  night,  the 
wearied  man  sought  and  found  an  hour's  repose  before 
the  expedition  started  out.  Leaving  camp  before  sun 
rise,  the  cool  air  fanning  his  aching  brow,  the  sorely- 
tried  man  strove  to  assume  a  look  of  cheerfulness,  trust- 


132         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

ing  to  a  kind  Providence  that  this  feeling  might  grow  in 
his  heart  apace.  Wichard  and  one  of  the  junior  Lieuten 
ants  were  in  advance  of  the  column,  and  the  Colonel  knew 
that  no  "sign"  would  be  overlooked;  and  involuntarily 
he  relapsed  into  the  painful  thoughts  he  had  tried  so 
hard  to  banish.  Why  had  she  gone?  Where  had  she 
gone?  To  think  of  her  wandering  over  this  dry,  cactus- 
strewn  plain,  sick  and  delirious,  perishing  of  thirst,  and 
no  one  near  to  hear  her  pitiful  cry  for  water.  Or,  per 
haps — well,  his  conscience  was  clear,  he  told  himself,  but 
she,  foolish  child — had  she  really  loved  him?  He  would 
do  justice,  he  vowed  to  himself  in  this  dread  hour,  even 
though  it  broke  his  heart,  if  only  he  could  find  her  safe 
and  unharmed. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath — had  his  vow  been  heard?  His 
prayer  answered? 

An  irrepressible  commotion  ran  through  the  ranks  as 
Wichard  was  seen  to  throw  up  his  arm  suddenly,  and  the 
Lieutenant  whipped  out  his  field  glass.  The  Colonel  was 
beside  them  in  an  instant,  and  almost  simultaneously  a 
shout  went  up  from  a  hundred  throats,  a  shout  that  was 
against  all  rules  and  regulations,  but  for  which  their 
commander  never  took  his  soldiers  to  task.  A  shout  in 
answer,  weaker  by  a  good  many  lungs,  but  just  as  detri 
mental  to  discipline,  rang  back  on  the  air,  and  pretty 
soon  Sergeant  Brown,  waving  a  lady's  hat,  instead  of  his 
own,  disintegrated  himself  from  a  whirl  of  dust,  Indians, 
cavalry  men  and  a  mass  of  wildly-plunging  horses,  and 
approached  the  Colonel,  who  had  galloped  forward  to 
meet  him. 

"She's  safe,  Colonel !"  Another  serious  offense  against 
etiquette  and  discipline,  but  no  one  noticed  it,  and  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  133 

Colonel  clasped  his  hands  for  the  second  as  in  silent 
prayer,  and  then  the  men  cheered  their  comrade  and  the 
news  he  brought. 

While  a  halt  was  ordered,  and  the  soldiers  dismounted, 
the  Sergeant  reported  that  toward  sundown  yesterday 
they  had  met  three  Indians,  who  had  waved  a  white  flag 
and  the  madam's  hat,  in  token  of  their  peaceful  mission. 
They  said  they  were  Mescaleros,  friendly  to  the  whites, 
and  had  a  message  from  their  chief  to  the  Big  Captain 
of  the  white  soldiers;  that  the  wife  of  the  Big  Captain 
was  in  their  lodge ;  that  they  were  good  Indians  and 
wanted  the  Great  Father  in  Washington  to  know  it.  The 
Sergeant,  thinking  it  no  harm  to  use  a  ruse  de  guerre  in 
order  to  reach  the  Colonel's  wife,  had  intimated  that  he 
himself  was  the  Big  Captain ;  but  the  spokesman  of  the 
Indians  had  pointed  to  the  chevrons  on  the  Sergeant's 
arm  and  had  drawn,  with  his  finger,  the  shape  of  a 
shoulderstrap,  with  the  rude  semblance  of  an  eagle,  on 
the  Sergeant's  shoulder. 

Wichard  was  called  up  to  interpret,  and  he  repeated 
after  the  Indians  what  the  Sergeant  had  already  under 
stood  them  to  say,  adding  that  they  seemed  anxious  for 
the  Big  Captain  to  meet  their  Chief.  So  the  Sergeant 
was  sent  back  to  the  post  with  his  men,  and  the  long 
column  took  up  the  line  of  march  again.  A  hot,  tiresome 
march  it  was  for  man  and  beast  alike;  in  the  middle  of 
the  day  the  torture  of  the  scorching  sun  overhead  and 
the  burning  sand  under  foot,  grew  almost  intolerable. 
Many  a  canteen  swung  empty  from  the  saddle,  and  many 
a  wistful  look  was  sent  in  the  direction  of  the  Colonel, 
who  sat  lost  in  thought  on  his  jaded  horse.  At  last 
Wichard  approached  him  to  say  that  they  were  nearing 


134        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

a  water-hole  in  the  low  hills  before  them  and  that  he  had 
convinced  himself  of  the  good  faith  of  the  Indians,  so 
that  no  ambush  was  to  be  feared. 

"To  be  sure/'  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  guide's  ad 
dress,  "I  have  been  miserably  selfish  to  forget  the  men 
and  their  horses."  And  the  Lieutenant  issued  the  wel 
come  order  to  halt  and  dismount  when  the  water-hole 
was  reached. 

After  an  hour's  rest  the  march  was  resumed,  and  in 
time  the  tents  and  wickiups  of  an  Indian  encampment 
came  in  sight.  It  was  easy  enough  to  distinguish  the 
tent  occupied  by  the  chief,  but  when  Wichard  advanced 
with  the  Colonel  to  act  as  interpreter,  the  Indian  at  the 
entrance  intimated  that  Colonel  Tremayne  must  go  in 
alone.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  entered,  and 
the  blanket  doing  duty  as  tent-flap  was  dropped  be 
hind  him. 

Before  him  stood  a  tall,  brown  warrior,  tricked  out  in 
the  finest  of  Indian  finery — a  chief,  beyond  doubt,  though 
his  head  was  bare  of  the  eagle  feathers  which  they  wear 
so  proudly.  For  the  length  of  a  second  they  stood,  look 
ing  eye  into  eye;  then  the  Indian  chief  slowly  stretched 
out  his  hand  and  the  other  started  back,  thunderstruck. 

"Branson!"  he  exclaimed.    "You?    Here?" 

"You  need  not  fear  to  touch  my  hand,  Tremayne,"  said 
the  chief  bitterly.  "No  white  man's  blood  has  ever  sul 
lied  it.  My  Indian  braves  know  that  if  they  ever  become 
hostile  to  the  whites,  mine  must  be  the  first  life  they 
take." 

"No,  indeed,  old  fellow,  I  was  not  afraid  to  take  your 
hand,"  protested  the  Colonel,  seizing  both  and  pressing 
them.  "I  was  simply  startled  out  of  my  senses." 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  135 

"Let  me  tell  you  about  your  wife  first/'  the  other  went 
on.  "She  is  fast  asleep  in  the  next  tent,  and  the  old 
squaw  waiting  on  her  says  she  must  not  be  waked  up  out 
of  that  sleep.  But  you  may  take  just  one  look  at  her, — 
then  return." 

Eagerly  enough  the  Colonel  availed  himself  of  the  per 
mission;  and  his  heart  throbbed  hard  and  fast  as  he 
looked  upon  the  form  of  his  wife,  slumbering  gently  on 
her  couch  of  robes  and  blankets,  while  an  old  Indian 
woman,  crouched  at  her  side,  fanned  the  sleeper  with 
slow,  steady  motion. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you,  Branson,"  he  said,  re 
turning  to  the  chief's  presence.  "Nor  is  it  the  first  time 
you  have  played  providence  for  me,  I  believe ;  it  was  you, 
no  doubt,  who  saved  one  of  my  men  the  other  day." 

"Yes,  my  tribe  is  on  the  war  path  against  the  Coy- 
oteres,  and  we  were  hunting  them  when  we  came  unex 
pectedly  on  your  two  fellows — too  late  to  save  the  other 
one." 

"But,  in  the  name  of  God,  Branson,  what  are  you  doing 
here,  and  how  came  you  here  ?  You — you  committed  sui 
cide  in  New  York  harbor,  from  Fort  Columbus — before 
the  war  was  over;  your  body  was  found,  if  I  remember 
right." 

"I  was  glad  to  hear  of  it,"  admitted  the  dead  man.  "It 
was  the  fitting  end  for  a  man  who  had  proved  himself 
a  false  friend,  perfidious  husband,  recreant  to  his  trust. 
But  I  was  not  base  enough  to  make  the  coward's  plea — 
'The  woman  tempted  me !'  I  bore  my  disgrace  as  I  had 
borne  my  disappointment — alone  and  in  silence." 

He  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  rude  table,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 


136        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Poor  fellow" — his  friend  said  it  with  profound  feel 
ing.  "Is  there  no  way  out  of  this  trackless  wilderness 
back  to  a  better  life  for  you  ?" 

"None,"  came  the  answer,  steady,  but  in  muffled  tones, 
"as  I  have  made  my  bed  so  must  I  lie  upon  it.  May  the 
end  of  all  things  earthly  come  soon  for  me — Amen! 
Now  let  us  speak  of  yourself,"  he  continued,  shaking  off 
the  gloom  that  had  settled  on  the  two  old  friends.  "Do 
you  know  why  your  petite  wife  undertook  that  wild 
ride?" 

"She  was  sick — "  began  the  husband. 

"Bah,"  said  the  other  contemptuously.  "Our  army 
surgeons  are  never  asked  in  the  course  of  their  examina 
tion,  'Cans't  minister  to  a  mind  diseased/  " 

"What  can  you  mean?"  The  brave  soldier  trembled, 
perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

The  other  handed  him  a  paper  he  had  taken  from  out 
of  a  fur  robe  and  bade  him  read  it.  "The  old  Indian 
woman  found  it  in  your  wife's  clothing.  I  have  read  it, 
and  may  be  able  to  explain  some  things  you  do  not  un 
derstand  in  the  letter." 

The  letter  was  tear-stained  and  crumpled  and  written 
in  a  cramped  foreign-looking  hand,  and  it  read : 

"You  think  yourself  the  wife  of  Colonel  Tremayne, 
poor  little  insignificant  thing,  of  whom  he  used  to  speak 
as  one  adoring  him.  To  be  sure  you  have  played  your 
cards  well.  My  Allan  tells  me  he  is  not  wealthy.  I  go 
to  Europe  again  to  win  wealth  and  fame  and  in  that  time 
you  throw  over  poor  Lieutenant  Tremayne  and  make 
love  to  my  husband.  Take  heed,  I  am  on  my  way  to 
your  garrison.  I  bring  my  marriage  lines  and  I  will  dis 
grace  you.  Go,  fickle-hearted,  false  woman,  go  to  kneel 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  137 

by  the  grave  of  poor  Lieutenant  Tremayne,  who  died 
broken-hearted  for  you.  I  have  seen  his  lonely,  neg 
lected  grave,  sunken  in  from  the  frosts  of  winter  and  the 
thaws  of  spring;  and  water  stands  in  the  grave  as  if  the 
heavens  had  wept  tears  of  sorrow  over  him  who  died  of 
your  inconsistancy.  Flee  ere  I  reach  Fort  Greengate  and 
tear  the  mask  off  your  face  and  assert  my  rights  to  the 
place  beside  my  husband.  For  this  time  only  I  sign  my 
self  as 

"BLANCA  DE  LA  STRADA." 

The  Colonel  could  find  no  words  in  his  bewilderment. 

"But  I  was  never  married  before,"  he  protested.  "Who 
is  this  woman?" 

"That  I  can  tell  you,"  answered  his  old  comrade.  "She 
is  an  Italian,  big  black  eyed,  a  singer  of  some  note,  with 
whom  your  cousin  was  madly  in  love  at  one  time,  while 
stationed  in  New  York  harbor  during  the  war.  That  he 
married  her  under  your  name  and  rank  I  have  no  doubt, 
speaking  of  you,  I  presume,  as  the  cousin  Lieutenant. 
That  he  persuaded  her  later  to  go  on  a  trip  to  Europe,  I 
do  not  doubt  either.  Reckless  as  he  might  be,  he  knew 
he  could  never  bring  that  woman  into  army  circles.  I 
can  understand,  too,  how  easy  it  was  for  her  to  trace 
Colonel  Tremayne,  though  I  don't  quite  understand  how 
the  scamp  could  have  mentioned  your  little  wife  to  her." 

"My  wife — "  began  the  Colonel,  a  little  unsteadily,  "is 
so  much  younger  than  I  am ;  she  knew  my  cousin." 

"Ah,  that  accounts  for  it,"  interrupted  the  other,  anx 
ious  to  save  his  friend's  feelings.  "I  never  knew  where 
the  fellow  brought  up.  What  does  she  know  about  his 
grave?  Where  did  he  die?" 


138        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"He  was  assigned  to  Fort  Riley  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
grew  disgracefully  dissipated,  was  cashiered  and  shot 
himself  at  Topeka." 

"That  is  where  this  letter  is  from/'  observed  Branson. 
"I  presume  the  lady  had  gone  to  Fort  Riley  to  locate 
you.  Can  you  not  fancy  Old  Pike,  who  is  in  command, 
giving  information  to  this  lady?"  he  asked  with  a  grim 
smile. 

A  troubled  look  sat  on  his  old  comrade's  face.  "How 
shall  I  convince  my  wife?"  he  asked.  "Just  because  she 
is  so  perfectly  unsophisticated  herself  she  has  taken  all 
these  theatrical  phases  seriously  and  in  earnest." 

"Besides,  there  being  some  truth  in  the  letter,"  Bran 
son  put  in,  perhaps  because  he  wanted  a  just  share  of  the 
trouble  laid  on  young  Mrs.  Tremayne's  pretty  shoulders. 
"But  you  can  explain  at  once,"  he  continued,  pointing 
to  the  old  woman  who  had  stuck  her  head  into  the  tent. 
"Your  wife  is  awake  now." 

A  heart-rending  cry  was  heard  as  the  Colonel  disap 
peared  in  the  tent,  and  the  next  moment  his  wife  lay 
weeping  on  his  breast. 

"Oh,  my  husband,"  she  cried,  "for  you  are  my  hus 
band,  are  you  not?  You  do  not  belong  to  that  other 
woman,  do  you?" 

"Am  I  the  man  to  fall  in  love  with  painted  stage 
queens,  you  foolish  little  girl?"  he  asked. 

"But  she  knows  your  middle  name,"  persisted  poor 
jealous  little  Elsie,  "and  you  never  would  tell  me  what 
the  'A*  stood  for  in  your  name." 

"My  cousin's  middle  name  was  Allan — not  mine.  Look 
here,"  he  said,  drawing  some  papers  from  his  breast 
pocket  and  unfolding  one  for  her  to  read.  "A  soldier's 


THE  COLONEL'S  YOUNG  WIFE  139 

life  is  an  uncertain  one,  and  I  have  tried  to  provide  for 
my  little  wife's  future  in  case  of  my  death.  What  name 
do  you  read  there?" 

"James  Adam  Tremayne ;  but  why  would  you  not  tell 
me  the  name?" 

"Adam  is  not  a  romantic  name,"  he  said  shamefacedly, 
"and  I  knew  you  would  think  it  very  commonplace." 

She  was  laughing  through  her  tears  now,  and  declared 
herself  ready  and  anxious  to  go  home  at  once.  There 
was  a  tap  outside  and  on  being  admitted,  Wichard  said 
the  doctor  had  entrusted  him  with  a  bottle  of  medicine 
for  madam,  in  case  she  should  become  faint  on  the  way 
home. 

"I'll  take  it,  Wichard,"  she  said  merrily,  "in  place  of 
that  nasty  old  draught  he  fixed  for  me  the  other  night.  I 
distinctly  remember  knocking  it  out  of  the  laundress* 
hands,  but  she  was  afraid  to  tell  the  doctor." 

As  the  medicine  was  port  wine  of  the  kind  Uncle  Sam 
keeps  in  his  apothecary,  and  as  the  cobwebs  had  all  been 
cleared  out  of  the  young  wife's  brain,  it  was  more  potent 
in  restoring  health  and  cheerfulness  than  the  dissipated 
sleeping  draught  had  been. 

Since  there  was  a  late  moon  they  started  as  soon  as  the 
horses  were  sufficiently  recruited,  the  Indian  chief,  with 
a  number  of  his  tribe,  escorting  them.  At  daybreak  they 
parted,  and  Branson  and  Tremayne,  who  had  ridden  far 
in  advance  of  the  column,  clasped  hands  for  the  last  time. 
Wichard  had  scanned  the  chief  closely,  though  Branson 
had  had  the  foresight  to  be  the  Indian  chief  again,  even 
to  the  headgear  of  eagles'  feathers  and  the  paint  on  face 
and  forehead.  No  one  knew  what  it  cost  the  pseudo- 
Indian  to  restrain  the  instinctive  movement  of  head  and 


140        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

hand  in  passing  his  friend's  wife;  but  he  felt  the  eyes  of  the  old 
scout  on  him,  and  he  only  nodded  as  he  passed  along. 

In  the  cool  of  the  evening,  just  before  retreat,  they 
saw  the  post  before  them  alive  with  men  waving  their 
hats  and  cheering  till  the  echoes  rang,  and  as  the  Colonel 
uncovered  his  head  to  respond  to  their  greeting,  a  tear 
stood  in  his  eye.  There  were  men  there  whose  locks 
were  already  showing  silver  threads,  while  their  faces 
were  young  and  their  strength  in  its  prime.  They  were 
the  men  with  whom  he  had  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder 
in  line  of  battle,  when  the  roar  of  cannon  and  thick- 
flying  musket  balls  had  made  a  hell  around  them,  but 
they  had  never  flinched  nor  wavered.  And  these  men 
now  gathered  about  their  old  commander  and  his  young 
wife  greeting  them  as  if  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the 
Unites  States  army  had  never  been  written  or  revised. 

Months  later,  a  single  Indian  rode  boldly  into  Fort 
Greengate.  He  proved  to  be  one  of  the  three  who  were 
bringing  madam's  riding  hat  as  a  peace  pledge  to  the 
camp  that  time.  Wichard  was  on  hand  directly — he 
knew  he  should  have  to  act  as  interpreter.  The  Indian 
brought  the  tidings  that  their  chief  had  died  three  suns 
ago;  the  arrow  of  a  treacherous  Coyotero  had  laid  him 
in  the  dust,  and  he  had  been  bidden  by  his  chief  long 
since  to  announce  his  death  to  the  Big  Captain  whenever 
it  should  occur. 

Wichard,  the  Colonel  shrewdly  suspected,  was  plying 
the  Indian  with  questions  on  his  own  account,  in  the 
course  of  the  interview,  regarding  their  mysterious  chief. 
But  the  Indian  was  on  his  guard,  and  only  the  Colonel, 
outside  of  his  own  braves,  knew  the  secret  of  their  dead 
chief. 


THE  END  OF  THE  SONG 

In  the  days  of  my  youth — in  my  soldiering  days — I 
was  accused  of  being  both  sentimental  and  romantic. 
The  recital  of  a  touching  incident  could  move  me  to  tears, 
and  I  always  preferred  a  sad  song  to  a  gay  one.  Per 
haps  it  was  the  streak  of  romance  in  my  composition, 
that  made  the  idea  of  accompanying  the  command  to 
which  the  lieutenant  was  attached,  so  attractive.  I  car 
ried  it  out,  at  least,  and  found  the  surroundings  of  Fort 
Bayard,  New  Mexico,  which  the  California  troops  had 
been  garrisoning  till  we  arrived,  as  wildly  romantic  as 
heart  could  wish. 

Of  the  troops  of  Regular  Cavalry,  called  "the  Rifles" 
more  often  than  Third  Cavalry,  even  as  late  as  the  close 
of  the  Civil  War,  many  of  the  Fifth  Infantry,  U.  S.  A., 
marching  with  our  command,  most  men  were  raw  re 
cruits.  Out  of  the  ranks  of  our  own  soldiers,  we  had  been 
allowed  to  pick  three  men,  an  orderly,  a  cook  and  a  waiter, 
which  was  very  good  for  a  simple  lieutenant  and  his 
wife ;  but  this  was  under  the  ancient  order  of  things,  and 
out  in  the  wilderness.  And  besides,  I  was  the  only  lady 
in  camp,  and  there  was  no  other  white  woman,  except 
the  company  laundress,  for  a  hundred  miles  around.  So 
the  commanding  officer  overlooked  many  things,  which 
would  have  been  unfavorably  passed  upon  under  other 
circumstances. 

All  of  our  three  men  were  Germans,  and  I  soon  saw 
that  they  would  presume  upon  my  being  of  German 
birth,  if  not  checked  in  time.  That  is,  they  laid  all  kinds 


142         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

of  requests  and  petitions  before  me,  which  were  to  be 
insinuated  to  the  lieutenant  at  a  favorable  opportunity. 
One  request  they  made,  I  granted  at  once.  Among  the 
Infantry  was  one  more  German,  a  green  one,  just  out 
from  the  native  heath,  and  not  yet  able  to  speak  English. 
The  "dough-boys"  treated  this  poor  fellow  rather  too 
roughly,  they  said;  especially  a  big  Irish  sergeant,  who 
made  life  almost  unbearable  to  the  poor  man. 

Charlie  Bochterle  submitted  this  to  me  one  day  when 
he  came  to  clear  off  the  table,  though  he  was  cook. 
Pinkow  repeated  the  tale  when  he  brushed  up  around 
the  dining  tent,  a  little  later ;  and  Reichard,  the  orderly, 
ventured  on  saying  something  about  it  to  the  lieutenant 
himself.  But  the  lieutenant  had  no  right  to  interfere, 
and  wanted  to  know  nothing  about  how  they  treated 
recruits  in  the  Infantry  camp.  However,  I  was  cour 
ageous  as  any  soldier  those  days,  and  I  surprised  the 
commanding  officer  one  day  by  a  request  for  an  addi 
tional  man.  There  was  a  German  among  the  Infantry 
recruits,  I  told  him,  who  knew  all  about  raising  vegeta 
bles,  and  I  was  very  anxious  to  procure  seeds  and  have 
a  garden,  for  there  was  but  little  chance  of  a  post-garden 
being  started  in  the  near  future.  So  permission  was 
given  Mohrman  to  make  himself  useful  in  the  Cavalry 
camp,  after  he  had  drilled  with  the  Infantry  in  their 
camp. 

The  poor  fellow  was  suffering  with  homesickness.  I 
never  knew  so  heart-broken  a  man.  I  think  he  would 
have  died  if  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  hold  communion 
with  our  three  men,  who  were  the  only  Germans  beside 
himself.  The  commanding  officer  had  other  things  to  do 
than  watching  to  what  use  I  had  put  the  new  man ;  but 


THE  END  OF  THE  SONG  143 

between  the  other  three  Dutchmen  and  myself,  we  gave 
him  employment  enough  to  keep  him  on  our  side  of  the 
camp. 

For  Fort  Bayard  was  only  a  camp  at  that  time. 
Though  it  was  said  that  these  troops  had  been  sent  to 
build  the  fort,  it  was  really  not  built  until  later,  when  I 
had  already  left  New  Mexico,  and  the  army.  At  this 
time,  just  after  the  war,  the  Indians  had  gained  ground 
all  over  the  Territory,  so  that  the  miners  and  other  white 
settlers  had  pretty  well  abandoned  it.  The  California 
troops  had  had  a  brush  with  "poor  Lo"  more  than  once, 
before  we  came  here ;  and  the  fight  had  always  been  over 
Uncle  Sam's  cattle,  which  the  Indians  wanted  the  worst 
way.  At  one  time  the  herders  had  seen  a  number  of  men 
with  an  officer  ride  up  to  inspect  the  cattle  under  their 
care,  so  they  thought,  but  when  the  officer  threw  up  his 
forage  cap,  there  was  an  unearthly  yell,  and  the  men 
turned  out  to  be  Apaches,  and  only  one  herder  came 
back  to  camp  to  tell  the  tale.  At  another  time  the  horses 
as  well  as  the  cattle  were  stampeded  at  night,  and  only 
one  dead  horse  was  recovered  by  those  sent  in  pursuit. 
However,  there  was  a  larger  force  now,  and  we  pro 
posed  to  eat  the  army  beef  ourselves,  for  it  was  very 
good. 

Mohrman,  who  had  marched  with  the  command,  com 
posed  of  Infantry  and  Cavalry  together,  across  the  plains 
from  Fort  Leavenworth,  had  not  thrived  on  this  little 
walk.  But  the  hardest  labor  required  of  him  now  was 
to  assist  Charley  in  the  cook  tent  sometimes;  more  fre 
quently,  however,  he  spent  his  time  cleaning  and  brush 
ing  the  lieutenant's  clothes  and  looking  after  our  sad 
dles,  mine  more  particularly,  for  it  always  seemed  to 


144        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

require  some  little  attention.  I  had  never  realized  what 
a  lot  of  clothes  the  lieutenant  must  have,  judging  by  the 
amount  of  cleaning  that  was  necessary;  but  I  fancy  the 
brass  buttons  of  Mohrman's  three  comrades  sometimes 
needed  polishing,  too. 

His  favorite  place  was  the  space  between  the  cook  tent 
and  the  two  tents  opening  into  each  other,  which  served 
us  for  quarters.  The  front  tent  represented  dining  room 
and  reception  hall,  and  through  this  we  passed  into  the 
adjoining  tent,  which  was  sitting  room  and  bedroom. 
Intrenched  here,  between  our  cook  tent  and  the  living 
tent,  he  was  well  out  of  sight  and  seemed  perfectly  con 
tent,  if  not  positively  happy. 

After  a  few  days  of  this  new  life,  I  heard  him  occa 
sionally  sing  snatches  of  German  songs,  under  his  breath, 
as  if  in  doubt  of  the  suitableness  of  his  proceeding. 
After  a  few  days  more  he  sang  a  little  louder,  and  then 
one  day,  while  polishing  brass  buttons  for  dear  life,  he 
forgot  all  about  his  surroundings,  I  presume,  and  sang 
out  with  his  full  voice,  and  his  whole  heart  in  the  song. 

I  was  in  the  tent,  reading,  and  I  kept  as  still  as  a 
mouse,  for  he  was  singing  something  quite  new  to  me. 
It  had  always  been  a  matter  of  pride  with  me,  that  I 
knew  every  folk  and  soldier-song  written  in  the  German 
language,  from  "Morgenroth"  down  to  "Tanneboom,  O 
Tanneboom,  wie  grun  sind  deine  Blatter!"  But  this  was 
something  I  had  never  heard  before,  and  it  was  good; 
even  touching  and  tender,  when  it  came  to  the  end  of  the 
song.  There  must  have  been  sixteen  verses  of  it,  but  I 
should  not  have  objected  to  twenty-six  of  them,  for  each 
had  the  same  refrain : 


THE  END  OF  THE  SONG  145 

"Mein  trenes  Lieb — 
Mein  trenes  Lieb !" 

The  peculiarly  sad,  long-drawn  notes  of  the  North 
German  folk  song  in  the  first  stanza,  "My  Own  True 
Love,"  seemed  to  intensify  and  grow  more  insistent  in 
the  last  cadence,  "My  Faithful  Love." 

The  commanding  officer  had  objected  to  my  riding  out 
with  the  lieutenant,  of  late,  as  the  Indians  had  become 
troublesome  in  the  neighboring  country,  and  he  could 
not  permit  as  many  men  to  leave  the  camp  as  he 
deemed  necessary  for  our  escort.  There  had  been  more 
men  detailed  as  herders  of  cattle  and  horses,  since  the 
Apaches  were  known  to  be  prowling  around  again.  So 
it  came  that  I  sat  sewing  or  reading  in  the  tent  day  after 
day,  listening  to  Mohrman's  singing,  and  always  wait 
ing  impatiently  for  my  favorite  song,  which  I  was  deter 
mined  to  learn  by  merely  listening  to  it.  After  retreat,  I 
could  hear  the  men  singing  in  their  quarters,  and  they, 
too,  sang  "Mein  Trenes  Leib,  Mein  Trenes  Leib,"  each 
of  them,  no  doubt,  thinking  of  some  Gretchen  or  Kathe- 
rine  far  away. 

I  feel  quite  sure  I  should  have  learned  it  in  a  short  time 
had  not  the  listening  lessons  and  the  song  had  such  a 
sudden  end. 

The  Apaches,  one  fine  afternoon,  did  succeed  in  stam 
peding  the  herd,  and  killing  one  herder.  A  detachment, 
partly  Cavalry,  part  Infantry,  was  hot  in  pursuit  long 
before  the  sun  went  down;  and  when  the  troops  came 
back  next  day,  one  man  carried  his  saddle,  for  his  horse 
had  been  killed  under  him ;  one  man  sat  on  his  horse, 
wounded,  supported  on  either  side  by  an  Infantryman, 


146        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

and  one  man  never  came  back  at  all.    That  was  Mohr- 
man.    But  he  was  reported  as  missing,  not  killed. 

The  wounded  man  was  sent  to  the  hospital  tent,  a 
fresh  detail  picked,  and  again  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs 
and  the  tramp  of  men  was  heard,  as  the  little  command 
started  in  search  of  the  missing  man.  Early  the  next 
morning  they  found  him.  He  must  have  died  of  the 
arrow  still  in  his  breast,  on  the  night  of  the  day  he  left 
camp,  but  the  coyotes  had  not  molested  the  body,  and 
the  poor  fellow  was  brought  in  and  given  a  soldier's 
burial.  Our  three  men,  Charley,  Pinkow  and  Reichard, 
asked  permission  to  sing  at  his  grave,  and  as  the  place 
of  burial  was  not  far  away,  I  could  hear  it  all,  the  muf 
fled  drum,  the  fife  toned  down  somehow,  to  accord  with 
it,  and  later  on  the  singing  of  poor  Mohrman's  comrades, 
the  song  of  the  true  love,  the  faithful  love,  waiting  pa 
tiently  for  his  return. 

From  the  hospital  tent  came  the  sobs  of  the  wounded 
man,  it  was  not  far  off,  and  I  remember  thinking  how 
he  was  spending  all  his  strength  crying  over  Mohrman 
and  his  song.  As  for  me,  I  had  thrown  myself  on  my 
bed,  crying  bitterly,  though  not  so  loudly  as  the  wounded 
soldier.  I  had  my  head  in  the  pillows  to  choke  my  sobs ; 
but  the  man  in  the  hospital  tent  fairly  howled  at  the  end 
of  the  song,  at  the  end  of  the  refrain  borne  on  the  breeze 
to  us  again  and  again — 

"Mein  trenes  Lieb, 
Mein  trenes  L,ieb !" 


DRUMS 

That  bright  May  day,  months  ago,  while  looking  from 
my  window  on  the  procession  which  had  formed  to 
wreathe  with  flowers  of  remembrance  the  graves  of 
heroes  fallen  in  the  war  of  the  rebellion,  all  sorts  of  queer 
thoughts  kept  running  riot  in  my  head.  They  were 
memories  rather  than  thoughts,  and  were  called  into  life 
by  the  beat  of  the  drum. 

Not  only  that  the  martial  music  of  the  drums  was  such 
that  it  might  have  aroused  the  fallen  braves  from  their 
gory  beds,  but  the  sound  recalled  to  my  mind  other 
drums  I  had  heard,  beaten  in  different  localities  and 
under  a  variety  of  conditions.  Those  broad  fields  of 
glory,  the  Soldiers'  Cemeteries,  sprang  up  before  my 
eyes,  and  I  heard  again  the  fife  and  drum  that  led  the  sin 
gle  file  of  soldiers  who  bore  a  sleeping  comrade  to  his 
last  repose.  How  many  times,  when  out  for  an  after 
noon's  drive  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  Louis,  during  the  dark 
days  of  Civil  War,  did  we  meet  such  a  cortege 
— impressive  from  its  very  simplicity.  But  of  the  poig 
nancy  of  grief  and  the  depths  of  sorrow  which  these  lit 
tle  squeaking  fifes,  accompanied  by  the  beat  of  muffled 
drums,  will  express,  no  one  can  have  any  idea,  unless  he 
has  heard  for  himself. 

How  differently  the  drums,  unmuffled,  and  in  resonant 
tones,  sounded  when  heading  a  new  regiment  that  passed 
through  the  streets  on  their  way  from  Benton  Barracks 
to  their  first  battlefield.  Clear  and  sharp  the  fifes  piped 
out  their  shrill  notes,  and  the  drummer  boys  lustily  beat 


148        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

their  drums,  as  if  they  had  no  thought  for  the  bullets  that 
would  soon  whistle  about  their  ears,  and  lay  them  low 
on  the  field.  The  most  striking  object  in  a  photograph  of 
the  Antietam  battlefield,  taken  soon  after  that  fierce 
fight,  was  the  lifeless  form  of  a  drummer  boy,  amid  the 
slain,  his  poor  dead  arms  still  bent  as  if  holding  the  drum 
sticks— his  drum,  broken,  lying  a  stone's  throw  away. 

With  what  deafening  rattle  the  innumerable  drums 
were  beaten  in  the  grand  parade  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
in  Washington,  when  Sherman's  "bummers" — the  bona 
fide  article — brought  up  the  rear  of  that  almost  endless 
cavalcade !  Darkies  and  bummers,  mixed,  riding  or  driv 
ing  before  them  mules  and  donkeys,  on  which  were 
perched  live  specimens  out  of  Noah's  Ark,  from  a  rac 
coon  to  a  Thomas  cat!  Such  screeching  of  parrots  and 
crowing  of  game  cocks,  such  bleating  of  young  lambs 
and  chattering  of  old  monkeys,  were  never  heard  before 
nor  since.  They  were  all  war  trophies,  and  so  many 
proofs  that  the  drummer  boy  had  "beaten"  his  way 
through  the  South  with  success. 

No  beating  of  drums  ever  excited  the  same  feeling  as 
the  sound  of  the  "long  roll"  through  the  streets  of  Wash 
ington  on  the  night  of  Lincoln's  assassination.  To  those 
who  were  already  asleep  when  the  news  of  the  tragedy 
became  known — which  it  did  about  two  minutes  after  the 
dread  deed  had  been  done — the  sudden  alarm  must  have 
been  fearfully  startling.  Even  to  myself,  who  happened 
to  be  only  a  block  or  two  away  from  Ford's  Theater,  one 
of  a  numerous  party,  this  sounding  of  the  general  alarm 
had  something  terrifying,  though  apprised  of  the  mur 
der  a  moment  before  by  a  bare-headed,  wild-eyed  indi 
vidual,  who  rushed  into  the  house,  and  threw  open  the 


DRUMS  US 

parlor  doors  without  the  ceremony  of  knocking  or  asking 
permission  to  enter. 

A  hollow  mockery  is  the  drumming  of  the  little  band 
at  the  head  of  recruits  or  regular  soldiery  on  the  march 
to  a  frontier  post.  Wearily  they  plod  along  through 
sand,  dust,  or  mud,  with  the  rain  pouring  or  the  sun  blaz 
ing  down  on  their  drooping  heads.  Pretty  soon  a  village 
or  settlement  comes  into  sight,  and  instantly  the  noisy 
taps  of  the  drum  sticks  and  the  ear-splitting  squeals  of 
the  fife  seem  frantically  to  assert  and  insist  that  "there's 
nothing  half  so  funny,  nor  so  full  of  harmless  glee,  as  the 
roving  joyous  life  of  a  bold  soldier  boy." 

Entirely  different  these  same  drums  sound  when  the 
post  or  the  camp  has  been  reached,  and  the  brisk  tattoo 
seems  to  say,  "Well,  we're  in  an  Indian  country,  and 
we've  all  got  scalps  to  lose,  but  we'll  keep  a  sharp  look 
out  for  'Lo'  by  day  and  by  night."  "Taps"  have  a  more 
quieting,  reassuring  sound;  they  say,  "All  safe,  lights 
out;  good  night."  In  the  morning  when  the  sun  rides 
high  above  the  mountain  that  looks  down  on  the  plain, 
and  guard  mount  goes  forward  in  camp,  the  drums  seem 
to  call  out  volubly  to  the  rugged  heights,  "We're  all  here 
yet,  and  we  all  mean  to  stay,  though  a  soldier's  life  in 
these  parts  is  not  so  very  gay." 

What  sort  of  a  noise  the  drum  makes  when  it  sounds 
the  call  for  battle  when  fighting  begins  in  earnest,  I  don't 
know ;  I  never  made  strenuous  efforts  to  get  near  enough 
to  learn.  As  a  fear-inspiring  instrument,  the  drum  may 
be  named  when  in  the  hands  of  a  small  boy,  about  Christ 
mas  time. 

One  of  the  finest  poems  of  its  kind  in  our  literature  is 
Bret  Harte's  "Reveille,"  and  in  that  he  gives  the  roll  of 


150        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

the  drums  as  forcefully  as  Poe  gives  the  jingle  and 
clangor  of  the  bells  in  his  immortal  poem,  "The  Bells." 

Hark !  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 

And  of  armed  men  the  hum; 
Lo !  a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Round  the  quick  alarming  drum, — 
Saying,  "Come, 
Freeman,  come! 

Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,"  said  the  quick 
alarming  drum. 

"Let  me  of  my  heart  take  counsel : 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum ; 
Who  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest 
When  the  autumn  days  shall  come?" 
But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "Come! 

Death  shall  reap  the  braver  harvest,"  said  the 
solemn-sounding  drum. 

"But  when  won  the  coming  battle, 

What  of  profit  springs  therefrom? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation, 
Even  greater  ills  become?" 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "Come! 

You  must  do  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  said  the 
Yankee-answering  drum. 

"What  if,  'mid  the  cannons'  thunder, 
Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 
When  my  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  dumb?" 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "Come! 

Better  there  in  death  united,  than  in  life  a 
recreant, — come !" 

Thus  they  answered,— hoping,  fearing; 

Some  in  faith,  and  doubting  some, 
Till  a  trumpet-like  voice  proclaiming, 
Said,  "My  chosen  people,  come!" 
Then  the  drum, 
Lo!  was  dumb, 
For  the  great  heart  of  the  nation,  throbbing, 

answered,  "Lord,  we  come!" 

— From  Bret  Harte's  Poems,  by  Permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co. 


DRUMS  151 

The  drum,  as  an  educator,  is  spoken  of  by  Heine  in  his 
Book  le  Grand. 

"Parbleu!"  he  says,  "how  much  do  I  not  owe  to  the 
French  drummer  who  was  quartered  at  our  house;  who 
looked  like  a  devil,  but  was  good  as  an  angel  at  heart, 
and  beat  the  drum  so  excellently  well.  It  was  a  small, 
mobile  figure,  with  a  terrible  black  mustache,  from 
under  which  the  red  lips  pouted  fiercely,  while  the  black 
eyes  darted  hither  and  thither.  Little  boy  that  I  was,  I 
stuck  to  him  like  a  burr,  helped  him  to  brighten  his  but 
tons  till  they  shone  like  mirrors,  to  whiten  his  vest  with 
chalk — for  Monsier  le  Grand  was  anxious  to  please — 
and  followed  him  to  the  parade  and  guard-mount.  There 
was  nothing  then  but  glitter  of  arms  and  merriment — 
les  jours  de  fetes  sont  passes.  Monsieur  le  Grand  knew 
but  little  broken  German,  only  the  principal  expressions 
— 'bread/  'kiss/  'honor';  but  he  could  make  himself  very 
well  understood  on  his  drum.  If,  for  instance,  I  did  not 
know  what  the  word  'liberte'  meant,  he  beat  the  'Mar 
seillaise/  and  I  understood  him.  Did  I  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word  'egalite/  he  played  the  march, 
'Ca  ira !  ca  ira !  Les  aristocrats  a  la  lanterne/  and  I  com 
prehended. 

"Once  he  wanted  to  explain  to  me  the  word  T  Alle- 
magne/  and  he  drummed  that  all  too  primitive  tune 
which  we  hear  at  country  fairs,  where  they  have  trained 
bears  to  perform,  'Dum,  dum,  dum/  It  made  me  mad, 
but  I  understood  him.  *  *  I  speak  of  the  palace  gar 
den  at  Dusseldorf,  where  I  often  lay  on  the  grass  and 
listened  devoutly  when  Monsieur  le  Grand  told  of  the 
deeds  of  war  of  the  great  Emperor,  beating  the  marches 
which  were  drummed  during  those  actions,  so  that  I 


152        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

vividly  saw  and  heard  it  all.  I  saw  the  passage  over  the 
Simplon,  the  Emperor  in  front,  behind  him  climbing 
the  brave  Grenadiers,  while  the  startled  birds  croaked 
overhead,  and  the  glaciers  thundered  in  the  distance; 
I  saw  the  Emperor  in  his  gray  cloak  at  Marengo ;  I  saw 
the  Emperor  on  his  horse  at  the  battle  by  the  Pyramids 
— nothing  but  powder,  smoke,  and  Mamelukes  there;  I 
saw  the  Emperor  at  the  battle  of  Austerlitz.  Hui!  how 
the  bullets  whistled  over  the  smooth  ice  plane.  I  saw, 
I  heard  the  battle  at  Jena — dum,  dum,  dum;  I  saw,  I 
heard  the  battle  of  Eilau,  Wagram — but  really,  I  could 
hardly  bear  it  any  more.  Monsieur  le  Grand  drummed 
so  that  my  own  tympanum  was  almost  destroyed. 

"While  seated  on  the  old  bench  in  the  palace  garden, 
dreaming  myself  back  into  the  past,  I  heard  confused 
voices  behind  me,  deploring  the  hard  fate  of  the  poor 
Frenchmen  who  had  been  dragged,  during  the  Russian 
war,  to  Siberia,  and  held  there  as  prisoners  for  years, 
although  peace  had  been  proclaimed,  and  who  were  only 
now  returning  home.  When  I  looked  around  I  saw 
them,  these  orphan  children  of  glory.  Through  the  rents 
of  their  tattered  uniforms  peered  naked  misery;  in  their 
weather-shrunk  faces  lay  sad,  deep-sunken  eyes;  and, 
though  maimed,  limping  and  feeble,  they  still  kept  up  a 
kind  of  military  gait,  and,  strangely  enough,  a  drummer 
with  his  drum  staggered  along  at  their  head.  With  a 
secret  shudder,  I  remembered  the  story  of  the  soldiers 
who  fell  in  battle  during  the  day,  rose  up  again  at  night, 
and,  with  the  drummer  at  their  head,  marched  toward 
their  native  town. 

"Truly,  this  poor  French  drummer  seemed  to  have 
climbed,  half  decayed,  out  of  his  grave;  it  was  only  a 


DRUMS  153 

shrunken  gray  shadow,  in  a  dirty,  torn  capote,  a  deceased 
yellow  face  with  a  huge  mustache,  which  hung  deject 
edly  down  over  his  shriveled  lips.  The  eyes  were  like 
blackened  tinder,  in  which  gleamed  but  a  few  remaining 
sparks;  but  by  a  single  one  of  these  sparks  did  I  recog 
nize  Monsieur  le  Grand.  He  recognized  me,  too,  and 
drew  me  down  on  the  grass  beside  him,  and  there  we  sat 
again,  as  in  former  times,  when  he  taught  me  French 
and  modern  history  on  his  drum.  It  was  still  the  old 
familiar  drum,  and  I  could  not  wonder  enough  how  he 
had  protected  it  from  the  Russian  grasp.  He  drummed 
again,  as  he  used  to,  only  without  speaking.  But  if  his 
lips  were  closely  silent,  his  eyes  spoke  all  the  more,  light 
ing  up  victoriously  as  he  played  the  old  marches.  The 
poplars  beside  us  trembled  as  the  red  'Guillotine  March' 
resounded.  The  struggles  for  liberty,  the  old  battles,  all 
the  mighty  deeds  of  the  Emperor  he  drummed  as  of  yore, 
and  the  drum  seemed  to  become  a  sentient  being,  glad  of 
the  chance  to  express  its  inward  delight. 

"I  heard  again  the  thunder  of  the  cannons,  the  whis 
tling  of  the  bullets,  the  din  of  battle;  I  saw  again  the 
death  bravery  of  the  Guards,  the  fluttering  of  the  ban 
ners,  the  Emperor  on  his  horse ;  but  a  sad  tone  gradually 
crept  into  the  most  exultant  roll.  From  the  drum  there 
came  sounds  in  which  the  wildest  joy  and  the  deepest 
mourning  were  strangely  mingled ;  it  was  a  march  of  vic 
tory  and  a  funeral  march  at  once.  Le  Grand's  eyes  were 
ghostly  wide  open,  and  in  them  I  saw  nothing  but  a 
white  field  of  ice  and  snow,  covered  with  the  dead;  that 
was  the  'Battle  of  Moscow/ 

"I  had  never  thought  that  the  old,  hard  drum  could 
yield  such  wailing  notes  as  Monsieur  le  Grand  now  drew 


154        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

from  it.  They  were  beaten  tears,  and  they  sounded 
softer  and  softer,  and,  like  a  dull  echo,  broke  the  sighs 
from  Le  Grand's  breast.  And  he  himself  grew  weaker 
and  more  ghost-like;  his  withered  hands  trembled  with 
the  cold,  he  sat  as  in  a  dream,  only  stirring  the  air  with 
his  drum  sticks,  and  seemed  to  listen  to  voices  afar  off; 
and  at  last  he  looked  at  me  with  a  deep — abyss-deep — 
imploring  look.  I  understood  him ;  and  then  his  head  fell 
on  his  drum. 

"Monsieur  le  Grand  never  beat  a  drum  again  in  this 
life.  Nor  did  his  drum  ever  more  utter  sound.  It  should 
serve  no  foe  of  freedom  for  a  slavish  tattoo.  I  had  very 
well  understood  the  last  imploring  look  of  Le  Grand.  I 
drew  the  sword  from  my  cane  and  thrust  it  through  the 
drum  at  once/1 


PENITENCIA 

CHAPTER  I. 

"Morgen  muss  ich  fort  von  hier, 
Und  muss  Abschied  nehmen." 

— Altes  Lied. 

The  clank  of  spurs  fell  on  the  listener's  ear,  and  she 
cast  a  furtive  look  out  of  the  window.  Two  figures  were 
crossing  the  parade-ground,  but  neither  was  the  form  for 
which  she  had  been  watching. 

One  was  Major  Wharton,  militaire  in  looks  and  bear 
ing,  grizzled,  florid,  sharp  of  eye.  The  other,  whose  uni 
form  and  shoulder-straps  designated  him  lieutenant,  and 
whose  sash,  crossing  the  breast  from  the  right  shoulder 
to  the  left  hip,  proclaimed  him  officer  of  the  day,  was 
senior  lieutenant  of  B  Troop,  Captain  Cushing's  Com 
pany.  His  head  was  bowed  and  his  eyes  bent  to  the 
ground,  or  we  should  have  seen  that  they  were  quiet  and 
determined  in  expression,  with  a  shadow  of  regret  lying 
in  their  dark-grey  depths. 

He  towered  half  a  head  above  his  commanding  officer, 
and  his  carriage  was  soldierly  though  not  elegant. 
Thick,  short-cut,  reddish-brown  hair  and  a  heavy  mus 
tache  of  the  same  color  did  not  add  to  his  beauty,  though 
it  finished  the  look  of  character  that  distinguished  him. 

The  woman  who  watched  gave  but  one  look,  then 
swiftly  retreated  from  the  window.  It  was  evident  she 
did  not  want  to  be  seen  any  more  than  the  others  wanted 
to  see  her,  and  the  wave  of  red  that  had  covered  her  face 
a  moment,  swept  by  without  being  seen  by  any  eye.  But 


156        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

a  few  minutes  had  passed,  however,  till  she  crept  to  the 
window  again,  and  this  time  her  expectations  were  real 
ized — more  than  realized,  if  any  one  might  judge  from 
the  quick  gesture  with  which  she  threw  up  her  clasped 
hands,  only  to  let  them  drop  again  as  in  despair. 

"Under  guard !"  she  said  below  her  breath.  "Then  the 
sentence  is  dismissal  from  service  and  'Guilty  as 
charged/  " 

These  two  figures  had  now  reached  Captain  Cushing's 
quarters,  and  while  the  soldier  saluted  his  superior,  the 
captain  entered  the  room,  to  meet  the  blazing  eyes  and 
contemptuous  frown  of  his  wife.  He  shrank  within 
himself  and  tried  to  set  his  soft,  round  chin  and  irreso 
lute  mouth  into  firmer  folds. 

"The  court-martial  has  closed  its  sessions,  I  see;  and 
you  know  in  advance  what  the  sentence  will  be?"  she 
asked,  while  her  quivering  nostrils  belied  the  unnatur 
ally  quiet  tone  of  her  voice. 

Her  husband  had  not  succeeded  in  nerving  himself  for 
the  struggle,  and  he  blurted  out  like  a  school-boy, 
whipped  and  defiant: 

"Cashiered,  by  G — d,  as  I  knew  I  should  be,  the  mo 
ment  I  saw  the  fellows  of  the  108th  come  into  camp  and 
with  young  Richards  as  judge  advocate.  They  all  hate 
me,  and  I  knew  they  would  crowd  me  into  a  corner  and 
jump  on  me.'* 

"It  is  not  true!"  she  cried  indignantly,  "every  officer 
on  the  detail  was  friendly  to  you,  and  would  have  ac 
quitted  you  of  every  charge  if  it  had  been  possible." 
.    He  had  sunk  into  a  seat  and  seemed  ready  to  give  way 
to  a  burst  of  anguish. 


PENITENCIA  157 

"Geraldine,"  he  entreated,  "the  sentence,  you  know, 
goes  to  the  War  Department  first.  Your  father  had  so 
many  friends  in  Washington — " 

She  did  not  let  him  finish  the  sentence.  "None  of 
them  will  intercede  for  a  forger,  a  falsifier  of  records, 
depend  on  it;  and  I  would  not  ask  them."  She  drew 
herself  up,  a  queenly  figure,  dark  eyes  flashing  under 
clear-marked  brows,  a  mass  of  blue-black  hair  resting 
like  a  coronet  on  her  well-poised  head.  At  her  refusal 
the  ruffian-element  asserted  itself  in  the  quaking  creature 
before  her,  and  with  a  coarse  oath  he  laughed  bitterly : 

"You  were  h — 1  bent  on  marrying  an  army  officer,  and 
you  got  him." 

"My  father's  daughter  might  have  expected  at  least  to 
marry  a  gentleman,"  she  flung  back  at  him  tempestuous 
ly.  "Poverty  I  would  have  shared  with  you ;  misfortune 
I  would  have  helped  you  to  overcome,  but  disgrace  you 
must  bear  alone  as  best  you  can." 

Turning  sharply  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  snatched 
up  a  hat  and  hurried  along  the  row  till  she  reached  the 
quarters  of  Major  Wharton,  who  rose  quickly  on  her  ap 
proach  and  threw  wide  the  door  to  admit  her. 

"My  poor  child,"  he  said  gently,  "come  let  me  take 
you  to  Mrs.  Wharton." 

"No,  no !"  she  implored,  "not  now,  Major ;  you  know  I 
cannot  bear  to  be  pitied.  I  want  to  speak  to  no  one  but 
you  of  this  disgraceful  affair;  help  me,  I  beg  of  you,  to 
get  away  from  here  before  the  sentence  comes  back  from 
Washington,  approved." 

"Where  will  you  go?  What  will  you  do?  Are  you  not 
again  acting  hastily?  Your  father  is  dead " 


158        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Thank  God  he  didn't  live  till  now,"  she  murmured. 
Then  she  broke  out  passionately,  "Am  I  to  wait  till  Ran 
dall  is  drummed  out  of  camp  ?  I  know  him  now  and  will 
not  take  that  risk.  No ;  let  me  go  tomorrow,  at  daybreak, 
before  the  other  ladies  are  astir.  My  plans  are  made.  I 
go  to  California,  to  Cousin  Ella,  and  from  her  house  to 
any  place  where  I  can  earn  a  living  for  myself." 

"Has  it  come  to  that?"  asked  the  Major  in  surprise. 
"Has  Cushing  run  through  with  everything?" 

"Lost  it  at  the  gaming  table  before  we  left  Washing 
ton,"  she  affirmed  quietly. 

"How  fortunate  that  you  are  so  immensely  clever," 
the  Major  said,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "You  can  turn 
your  musical  talent  to  account  now,  or  you  can  teach 
languages  or  drawing  and  painting.  Your  father  was  so 
proud  of  your  talents  and  accomplishments." 

"But  he  never  dreamed  that  I  should  have  to  seek  a 
livelihood  by  them,"  she  interrupted  bitterly. 

"It  will  not  be  so  hard  for  you  in  Los  Angeles,  where 
there  are  still  friends  of  your  father's,"  the  Major  said 
soothingly. 

"Ella  is  no  longer  there;  they  have  removed  farther 
north." 

"Then  you  will  find  at  least  her  and  her  good  husband 
in  a  new  place,"  continued  the  kindly  old  man,  deter 
mined  to  place  things  in  the  best  possible  light  for  her. 

The  notes  of  the  bugle  came  gaily  in  the  window  at 
this  moment,  sounding  garrison  signal;  and  directly  a 
merry,  rollicking  drum  or  two  joined  in  the  call.  The 
stamping  and  whinnying  of  horses  struck  into  the 
clamor,  and  then  the  sharp,  short  order  of  some  sergeant 


PENITENCIA  159 

seemed  to  direct  affairs  to  their  proper  routine  and  set 
tlement. 

Once  more  the  tall  lieutenant,  with  the  sash  across  his 
breast,  passed  over  the  parade  ground ;  but  perhaps  Ger- 
aldine  had  not  seen  him,  for  her  hands  were  clasped  to 
her  face. 

"For  the  last  time,"  she  said  sadly,  "tomorrow  I  shall 
be  far  away,  and  never  again  will  I  hear  drum  or  bugle — 
never  again  mount  Black  Prince  for  a  gallop  over  the 
plain.  What  will  become  of  the  horse?  Do  not  leave 
him  in  Cushing's  hands — he  will  beat  him  to  death  out  of 
hatred  for  me!"  Her  fortitude  gave  away  at  last  and 
she  sobbed  aloud. 

"Why  not  let  me  sell  him  to  Winstead  before  you  go?" 
asked  the  Major;  and  with  a  startled  look  in  the  direction 
where  the  tall  lieutenant  had  passed  out  of  sight,  she  an 
swered,  hastily: 

"Let  him  try  the  horse  tomorrow  on  the  scout  which 
his  troop  is  to  make;  but  let  me  now  know  that  I  will 
be  on  my  way  to  the  railroad  before  they  return." 

"So  be  it,"  the  Major  agreed,  and  then  the  details  were 
settled  for  the  morrow,  upon  which  she  was  to  leave 
Fort  Hardinge  and  the  army. 

Before  the  ambulance,  which  was  to  bear  her  off, 
drew  up  at  the  quarters,  Geraldine  had  seen  B  Troop, 
with  Lieutenant  Winstead  on  Black  Prince,  start  out  on 
the  scout.  She  was  already  in  traveling  costume,  and 
she  drew  down  her  veil  as  if  he  could  have  seen  the  tear- 
stained  face  at  this  distance.  Tierney,  the  driver  of  the 
ambulance,  had  orders  to  stop  at  Major  Wharton's  quar 
ters.  While  Mrs.  Wharton  hastened  out  to  embrace 
Geraldine  and  comfort  her,  Mammy  Kedgwick,  a  contra- 


160        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

band  relic  of  the  Civil  War — which  had  not  long  been 
over  at  this  time — stowed  away  a  number  of  bundles  and 
packages  under  Tierney's  direction,  in  the  ambulance. 

The  other  ladies  had  all  sent  the  most  loving  message, 
and  poor  Geraldine  sobbed  out  her  thanks  that  they  had 
not  come  to  look  upon  her  in  her  grief.  Alas!  She, 
the  imperious,  self-willed,  but  warm-hearted  beauty  of 
the  little  frontier  garrison,  to  pass  thus  from  the  scene 
of  her  triumphs  and  her  happiness.  Then  the  ambu 
lance,  drawn  by  six  stout  mules,  dashed  off  as  lightly  as 
though  the  heaviest  heart  under  the  morning  sun  had 
not  been  its  burden.  As  they  passed  out  of  the  post, 
Geraldine  saw  how  well  the  Major  had  provided  for  her 
safety — an  escort  of  twelve  mounted  men  would  conduct 
her  to  the  nearest  railway  depot. 

An  early  halt  was  made  that  evening  at  a  little 
Government  station,  kept,  as  usual,  by  a  discharged  sol 
dier,  and  she  still  had  the  same  sense  of  safety,  of  exclu- 
siveness,  perhaps,  which  seems  to  exist  within  the  circle 
drawn  by  an  invisible  cordon  around  Uncle  Sam's  army 
and  every  one  belonging  to  it.  But  next  day,  when  the 
line  of  the  railroad  was  reached,  and  the  train  came  rum 
bling  up,  Geraldine  realized  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
world,  and  no  longer  "of  the  army."  She  kept  up  a  brave 
front,  though,  and  when  the  sergeant  saluted  as  she 
stepped  from  the  ambulance  to  board  the  train,  she  spoke 
with  her  steadiest  voice. 

"Present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Wharton  and  the 
other  ladies,  when  you  return  to  the  post,  sergeant;  and 
I  thank  you  and  your  men  for  all  your  kindness  and  at 
tention  on  the  journey." 


PENITENCIA  161 

Then  she  sat  through  the  next  hours  as  in  a  dream, 
and  when  she  knew  that  stable  call,  water  call,  feed  call 
had  gone,  she  looked  out  over  the  desolate  landscape, 
with  so  hopeless  a  face  that  the  conductor,  thinking  to 
cheer  a  homesick  traveler,  attempted  to  point  out  some 
object  of  interest  to  her.  The  unconscious  mingling  of 
bewilderment  and  resentment  which  her  face  suddenly 
expressed,  induced  him  to  forego  his  benevolent  inten 
tion,  and  he  allowed  her  to  remain  in  her  intrenchment 
of  solitary  hauteur  for  the  rest  of  the  trip. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"Jaehes  Hoffen — das  immer  irnmer, 
Schluchzend  erstirbt  in  der  Thranen  Thau." 

— Resa. 

The  little  inland  city  to  which  Cousin  Ella  had  moved, 
was  known,  late  in  the  sixties  and  early  in  the  seventies, 
to  the  pleasure-loving  element,  consisting  of  opulent 
Americans,  who  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  the  vanish 
ing  Spaniard,  so  far  as  love  for  sumptuous  feasts,  fine 
horses,  and  general  enjoyment  was  concerned.  Business 
was  left  to  those  who  had  still  their  way  and  their  dollars 
to  make;  the  wealthy  class  lived  simply  to  enjoy 
what  no  other  State  in  the  Union  offered;  cloud 
less,  balmy  days  in  the  depths  of  winter,  landscapes  in 
which  the  wonderful  and  the  beautiful  were  strangely 
blended,  and  where  there  were  verdure  and  fragrance 
from  the  valley  to  the  seacoast,  at  all  seasons. 

A  picnic  had  been  arranged  in  honor  of  Geraldine's 
arrival,  though,  truth  to  tell,  she  was  in  anything  rather 
than  festive  mood.  The  most  intimate  friend  of  Cousin 
Tom,  a  Mr.  Hollis,  who  drove  the  finest  team  in  the 
whole  procession,  had  been  entrusted  with  the  guest  of 
honor,  partly,  perhaps,  because  he  claimed  this  conces 
sion  as  being  the  eldest  among  the  men.  The  dapple- 
grays  he  drove  had  been  reared  on  his  ranch,  where  many 
fine  horses  were  bred.  Not  that  the  Hollis'  lived  on  this 
ranch  of  theirs,  however.  Not  by  any  means;  he  lived 
anywhere  and  everywhere ;  she  lived  all  the  year  in  Paris, 
and  their  friends  said  they  lived  very  happily  apart. 


PENITENCIA  163 

Ella  and  her  jolly  husband  had  charged  Mr.  Hollis  to 
do  all  he  could  to  rouse  "poor  Jerry"  up  to  something 
like  life — she  was  so  dreadfully  unhappy  and  homesick. 
She  did  indeed  look  pale  and  sad,  but  her  face  brightened 
as  she  watched  the  dapple  grays.  Her  companion  in  the 
meantime  watched  her. 

"You  are  fond  of  horses,  Mrs.  Gushing?" 

"Am  I  ?"  she  asked  in  reply ;  "  did  we  not  belong  to  the 
cavalry?"  Then  her  face  fell,  as  she  heaved  a  weary 
sigh. 

"Are  you  still  homesick  for  that  desolate  frontier  out 
post  on  the  bleak,  dreary  windswept  plain?"  he  asked. 

She  was  up  and  in  arms  at  once.  "But  it  is  not  dreary 
anywhere,  when  you  are  in  the  army;  it  is  lonely  and 
desolate  here,  though.  How  can  it  be  lonesome  at  the 
smallest  frontier  post  with  the  call  of  the  bugle,  the  beat 
ing  of  the  drum  and  the  tramp  of  soldiers  all  day  long. 
If  I  had  been  offered  a  fortune  to  quit  all  I  held  dear  in 
life,  I  should  have  rejected  it ;  and  now — now  I  must  live 
all  my  days  among  uncongenial  surroundings,  to  earn 
just  my  daily  bread." 

"Poor  child."  He  said  it  with  deeper  compassion  than 
perhaps  he  had  ever  felt  before,  but  it  was  well  she  did 
not  see  the  dangerous  warmth  that  crept  into  the  usually 
cold  eyes  of  the  man  beside  her. 

"Surely  Ella  and  Tom  are  kind  to  you,  are  they  not?" 
he  asked. 

"Kind!"  she  echoed.  "They  are  self-forgetful  in  their 
kindness  and  I  often  wish  they  were  harsh  to  me,  so  that 
I  might  fly  into  one  of  my  fits  of  passion  and  forget  my 
misery  a  little  while." 


164        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"In  other  words,"  he  put  in,  smiling,  "the  greatest 
kindness  one  could  show  you  now,  would  be  unkind- 
ness." 

"Exactly,"  she  laughed.  "Come  to  think  of  it,  though, 
I  got,  the  other  day,  what  I  asked  for.  At  my  request 
Ella  has  told  her  friends  of  my  desire  to  obtain  pupils, 
or  a  position  in  some  school;  and  Mrs.  Bingham,  who 
once  lived  in  Los  Angeles,  called  the  other  day,  and  I 
was  introduced.  She  eyed  me  all  over,  and  then  said  con 
descendingly :  "This  is  the  one  that  is  looking  for 
pupils;  it  is?"  Of  course,  we  all  know  she  was  once  a 
wash-woman,  but  she  has  money  now.  Without  winc 
ing,  I  replied  that  I  could  teach  music,  drawing  or  the 
languages,  and  Mrs.  Bingham  went  on  to  say  that  she 
understood  we  had  once  lived  in  Los  Angeles,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  old  Cathedral,  but  she  thought  no 
really  nice  people  had  ever  lived  there.  I  said  that  re 
tired  army  officers  were  glad  to  live  anywhere  outside  of 
the  poor  house,  and  before  I  could  draw  breath  again 
she  asked  me  to  play  something  for  her.  Chopin's  Noc 
turne  was  on  the  piano,  and  you  can  fancy  how  I  played 
it  with  my  shaking  fingers;  and  I  did  not  dispute  her 
opinion  when  she  said  it  was  evident  that  my  taste  in 
music  had  grown  a  little  rusty.  Perhaps  Uncle  Sam  did 
not  furnish  army  ladies  with  pianos,  she  said,  and  I  an 
swered  that  the  quartermaster  department  objected  to 
sending  out  costly  instruments  to  any  post  beyond  the 
Raton  Mountains,  as  they  could  not  well  be  packed  on 
mule-back,  and  that  was  the  only  means  of  transpor 
tation  now." 

Mr.  Hollis  laughed.  "Mrs.  Bingham  is  coming  here 
today ;  will  there  be  a  renewal  of  hostilities  ?" 


PENITENCIA  165 

"Quien  sabe  ?  I  am  always  ready  for  a  brush  with  the 
enemy.  My  father  used  to  say,  'Jerry  is  a  soldier's  child' ; 
and  to  thank  poor  papa,  I  learned  to  play  'Soldaten-Kind' 
for  him  on  the  piano,  as  soon  as  I  was  old  enough  to  ap 
preciate  his  defense  of  my  shortcomings  and  my  failings 
of  temper.'1 

As  the  dapple  grays  had  made  several  little  detours, 
the  arrangements  for  lunch  were  well  under  way  when 
they  reached  the  picnic  grounds.  The  younger  ladies, 
the  working  bees,  as  Mr.  Hollis  styled  them,  were  all 
busy,  and  some  had  already  blackened  fingers  and  heated 
faces  to  show  for  their  work ;  while  some  of  the  gentle 
men  were  charged  with  having  used  profanity  when  the 
cork-screw  would  not  work  with  the  promptness  and 
celerity  inherent  in  this  little  instrument  when  manipu 
lated  by  Californian  fingers. 

Geraldine,  as  guest  of  honor,  was  not  classed  with  the 
working  bees,  so  the  severity  of  her  plain  black  dress 
was  not  even  relieved  by  a  little  apron.  But  "poor 
Jerry"  felt  as  grand  in  her  simple  frock  as  did  Mrs.  Bing- 
ham  in  her  fashion-plate  apparel;  and  Mr.  Hollis  knew 
that  there  would  be  a  renewal  of  hostilities  when  he 
caught  the  sniff  of  disdain  with  which  Mrs.  Bingham 
allowed  a  platter  of  sandwiches  to  pass,  from  which 
Geraldine  had  selected  one  spread  with  cold  ham. 

"I  am  surprised  to  see  Mrs.  Gushing  ready  to  eat  a 
plain  ham  sandwich,"  she  snickered  in  her  unpleasantly 
nasal  tones.  "For  I  thought  army  belles  lived  on  ice 
cream  and  caramels  only." 

"Dainty  creatures — "  assented  Geraldine,  laughingly. 
"No,"  she  continued  with  sudden  inspiration,  "it's  very 


166        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

little  ice  cream  they  get,  though  an  occasional  box  of 
caramels  does  reach  us." 

"Perhaps  the  quartermaster  does  not  furnish  ice  cream 
when  it  has  to  be  packed  on  mule-back  over  the  moun 
tain  passes,"  the  other  lady  observed  loftily. 

"It  is  not  the  quartermaster's  business  at  all,"  said 
Jerry,  looking  wise  and  sober,  "but  the  commissary 
trains  that  are  sent  out  to  the  frontier  posts  with  these 
delicacies,  are  regularly  waylaid  at  Fort  Riley,  and  the 
commanding  officer  there  as  regularly  confiscates  the  ice 
cream  under  the  shabby  excuse  that  the  hospital  steward 
needs  it  for  the  sick  soldiers.  So  that  army  belles  are 
glad  enough  to  get  bacon  and  hard  tack  to  eat,  though 
to  be  sure,  the  bacon  is  much  finer  than  the  richest  peo 
ple  could  buy  outside  the  army."  And  the  little,  milk- 
white  teeth  dug  themselves  into  the  despised  ham 
sandwich  with  much  apparent  relish,  while  Cousin  Ella 
quickly  found  some  other  topic  of  conversation. 

There  was  much  animation  displayed  in  a  friendly 
contest  over  the  absorption  of  the  largest  quantity  of 
lunch,  and  while  the  younger  ladies  refilled  coffee  cups, 
the  gentlemen  were  re-enforced  as  to  bottles  by  the  most 
experienced  of  their  number.  And  while  ladies  were  flit 
ting  back  and  forth,  the  gentlemen  rising  and  subsiding, 
no  one  noticed  that  Mrs.  Cushing  had  left  the  circle. 
Cousin  Ella  alone  missed  her,  and  she  tried  vainly  to 
catch  her  husband's  eye,  but  Tom  Borden,  the  thumb 
of  one  hand  in  the  armhole  of  his  vest,  was  holding  his 
wine  glass  up  before  his  eye  with  the  other,  and  she 
knew  that  if  she  aimed  a  bread-ball  at  him,  he  would  ask 
out  aloud:  "What  is  it,  dear?" 


PENITENCIA  167 

Her  eyes  wandered  around  the  board  till  Mr.  Hollis' 
met  and  held  them.  He  understood  her  appeal,  slowly 
arose  and  wrhile  wandering  away  deliberately  lighted  a 
cigar,  which  he  threw  away  as  quick  as  he  got  out  of 
sight  of  preying  eyes.  Then  he  made  his  way  to  where 
he  heard  a  little  stream  purling  and  singing  on  its  way 
over  the  rocky  bed,  and  he  had  not  long  to  look  for  the 
object  of  his  search.  In  an  attitude  by  no  means  ex 
pressing  triumph  or  defiance,  with  bowed  head  laid 
against  a  rock,  and  arms  clasped  above  it,  it  was  rather 
the  pose  of  a  Magdalen,  in  which  he  found  her.  He  had 
an  opportunity  of  studying  the  lines  of  the  motionless 
form,  and  the  beauty  of  the  head  with  its  wealth  of  dusk 
hair,  dressed  low  in  the  neck  today,  in  a  heavy,  wavy 
coil.  The  whole  shape  was  mirrored  in  a  clear  pool,  and 
Mr.  Hollis,  anxious  to  obey  Cousin  Ella's  unspoken  be 
hest,  to  bring  Jerry  back  at  once,  made  a  little  pebble  to 
crunch  under  his  foot,  so  that  Geraldine  believed  he  had 
only  just  come.  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
with  startled  eyes. 

"What?"  laughed  Hollis,  "in  an  attitude  of  penitence 
and  regret  after  having  routed  the  enemy  with  eclat." 

"The  attitude  in  which  the  rest  of  my  days  will  be 
spent,  then."  The  light  and  sparkle  had  gone  out  of  her 
eyes  and  her  face  was  pale. 

"And  you  have  left  the  gay  world  as  represented  by 
the  picnic  crowd,  to  enter  on  this  life  of  penitence  at 
once,  here  where  the  wraters  of  the  Penitencia  flow." 

"Is  that  the  name  of  this  little  stream?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  glad  to  have  roused  her  from  her 
apathy,  "it  is  one  of  the  pretty  Spanish  names  found  all 
through  this  country." 


168        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

And  before  he  knew  what  she  was  about,  she  had 
stooped  to  dip  up  the  water  from  the  pool  at  her  feet,  and 
throwing  the  silver  spray  over  head  and  breast  and 
shoulders,  she  repeated  the  name. 

"Penitencia !"  she  cried,  "Penitencia — this,  then,  shall 
be  my  name  henceforth  and  forever."  All  my  life  has 
been  made  up  of  hasty  actions  and  bitter  repentance,  of 
regret  for  what  might  have  been,  and  hopeless  longing 
for  what  could  never  be;  and  my  portion  for  all  time 
to  come  will  be  only  what  my  new  name  speaks  of — 
Penitencia !" 

Mr.  Hollis  had  seized  her  arm.  "You  are  beside  your 
self,  Geraldine;  why  do  you  allow  so  small  a  reptile  as 
that  malicious  woman  to  sting  you  into  madness?  Go 
back  to  Ella,  at  once,  she  is  uneasy  about  you,  as  I  was 
too ;  for  you  are  wayward,  Geraldine,  and  I  am  sufficient 
ly  your  friend  to  tell  you  so." 

It  was  only  a  day  or  two  after  the  picnic  that  Tom 
Borden  came  home  with  a  letter  postmarked  Fort  Har- 
dinge.  How  her  eyes  lighted  up  with  a  sudden  hope, 
and  how  wan  her  face  grew  when  Tom  said  it  was  from 
Major  Wharton,  who  wrote  in  regard  to  papers  to  be 
served  on  Captain  Cushing  at  the  post.  He  assured  Mrs. 
Gushing  that  she  need  have  no  fear  of  trouble  from 
Randal. 

"What  else  does  he  write?"  she  asked,  and  Tom 
handed  her  the  letter  to  read,  which  she  soon  laid  aside, 
trying  to  hide  her  disappointment  from  herself. 

Then  she  told  Cousin  Ella  that  she  thought  it  safe  now 
to  go  to  San  Francisco  and  look  for  a  position  at  some 
school,  since  it  was  not  likely  that  Randal  would  contest 
her  suit  for  divorce. 


PENITENCIA  169 

"Will  you  get  a  divorce,  really,  Jerry?"  asked  Cousin 
Ella. 

"I  have  no  sentimental  scruples  on  the  subject/'  re 
plied  Geraldine  in  a  tone  that  was  not  pleasant  to  hear. 
"There  is  no  law  on  earth  that  can  prevent  me  from  get 
ting  a  divorce." 

"None  on  earth,"  her  cousin  admitted  a  little  sadly. 

She  soon  found  a  school  in  San  Francisco;  little 
Madam  Britzka  was  happy  in  the  acquisition  of  this  new 
instructor  to  complete  her  staff.  Mrs.  Gushing  had  come 
highly  recommended,  had  passed  her  examination  with 
credit,  and  soon  became  the  idol  of  her  pupils,  who 
raved  over  her  great  black  eyes  as  every  lieutenant  fresh 
from  West  Point  had  always  done.  Madame  Britzka 
was  pleased  with  the  "air  noble"  that  environed  the  new 
teacher;  and  Geraldine  found  residence  at  a  boarding 
house  where  fashion  was  somewhat  tempered  with  com 
fort.  No  one  became  nearer  acquainted  with  her  than 
to  notice  her  entrance  to  the  common  dining  hall,  garbed 
always  in  plainest  black,  her  hair  dressed  high  on  her 
head,  as  severely  classic  in  looks  as  she  was  distant  in 
manner.  They  thought  her  proud  and  arrogant,  but  she 
was  only  heart-broken  and  unhappy.  Aimlessly  she 
wandered  through  the  far-out  quiet  streets,  after  school 
hours,  and  when  the  fog  hung  like  a  pall,  and  the  wind 
drove  sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbles  into  her  eyes,  she  said 
bitterly:  "The  bleak,  dreary,  windswept  plains,  indeed. 
God — let  me  go  back  to  them  or  let  me  die !" 

One  morning  Madame  Britzka  broke  into  the  class 
room  with  an  important  air.  "You  have  visitors  in  the  re 
ception  room,  Mrs.  Gushing,"  she  announced,  "two.  gen- 


170         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

tlemen,  militare — oooh!"  and  she  straightened  her  back 
and  curled  long  fierce  mustachios. 

Geraldine's  eyes  grew  bright  and  a  sudden  glow  came 
into  her  face  as  Madame  Britzka  took  the  book  from  her 
hands  to  take  her  place.  Her  heart  throbbed  wildly  as 
she  approached  the  room,  and  then  stood  still  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold  and  took  Major  Wharton's  out 
stretched  hand. 

It  was  well  that  Mrs.  Wharton  was  not  there,  for 
women  can  read  a  woman's  emotion ;  but  Geraldine  was 
really  glad  to  see  the  Major,  and  she  greeted  Mr.  Hum 
phreys,  the  junior  lieutenant  of  B  Troop,  with  effusion. 
But  in  her  heart  there  was  a  great  cry,  for  a  sudden  hope 
had  sprung  up  there  only  to  be  swept  away  again. 

The  Major  congratulated  her  on  being  so  pleasantly 
situated,  and  went  on  to  say  that  he  was  on  a  tour  of  in 
spection  of  the  different  posts  in  the  Department  of  the 
Pacific,  Mrs.  Wharton  had  remained  in  Washington, 
where  he  had  been  ordered  to  report  first.  Winstead  was 
to  have  acted  as  his  aid,  but  just  before  leaving,  his  pro 
motion  to  the  captaincy  of  B  Troop  had  come  out,  and 
he  had  to  remain  at  Fort  Hardinge  with  his  company. 

When  she  reached  her  boarding  house  in  the  evening 
a  positive  horror  seized  her,  and  she  hesitated,  with  her 
foot  on  the  marble  step,  as  if  it  were  a  prison  she  was 
about  to  enter.  She  dragged  herself  wearily  through  the 
long  hall  and  up  to  her  room,  and  no  one  heeded  her 
absence  from  the  dinner  table  or  made  comments  on  her 
non-presence  at  breakfast;  Mrs.  Gushing  was  so  eccen 
tric.  But  poor  Geraldine  passed  a  long  night  on  the 
floor  beside  her  bed,  her  head  hidden,  and  weeping  fit  to 
break  her  heart. 


PENITENCIA  171 

Weary  and  desolate  she  took  up  the  burden  of  life 
again  on  the  morrow,  a  burden  to  which  were  added 
the  little  pitiful  cares  now,  for  gloves,  and  dresses  and 
shoes,  which  she  sorely  needed,  for  her  black  clothing 
had  grown  shabby.  She  had  rented  a  grand  piano  for  her 
room,  and  after  buying  what  music  she  wanted,  there 
was  little  left  to  buy  clothes  with. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  morning  that  the  hall  boy  tapped 
at  her  door  to  say  a  gentleman  was  waiting  for  her  in  the 
parlor.  Again  that  wild  hope  surged  up  in  her  heart;  to 
die  as  suddenly  when  Mr.  Hollis  rose  to  greet  her. 

"You !"  She  said  it  so  coldly  and  contemptuously  that 
he  drew  back  in  anger. 

"You  were  looking  for  some  one  else?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  savage  frankness. 

"And  it  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  find  me  instead 
of  him?" 

"It  was,"  she  said  disdainfully. 

"You  are  the  quintessence  of  candor  and  frankness, 
Mrs.  Gushing,"  he  took  up  his  gloves  which  he  had  laid 
aside  with  his  hat. 

She  swept  him  a  courtesy. 

"I  have  received  compliments  on  that  score  all  my  life 
long,"  she  replied  laughing,  and  her  mood  changed  at 
a  stroke.  "Come,  let  me  play  for  you ;  but  if  my  taste  in 
music  should  seem  a  little  rusty  to  you,  remember  it  is 
the  fault  of  this  old  rattle-trap.  I  have  rented  a  good 
instrument  for  my  own  use,  but  it  is  in  my  room  up 
stairs." 

Mr.  Hollis  was  charmed ;  he  was  fond  of  music,  though 
not  of  the  Ben  Bolt  style,  and  when  Geraldine  closed  the 
piano  she  had  her  reward  for  her  amiability.  After  hav- 


172        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

ing  delivered  kind  messages  from  Tom  and  Ella,  he  an 
nounced  that  he  had  brought  two  of  his  finest  saddle 
horses  to  San  Francisco,  and  if  Mrs.  Gushing  would  ride 
with  him  for  an  hour  that  afternoon,  his  groom  would 
have  the  horses  at  the  door  by  4  o'clock. 

"You  have  brought  your  habit  with  you,  I'll  be  bound," 
he  added. 

"It  may  be  like  my  taste  in  music,  a  little  rusty,"  she 
laughed,  "but  it  is  in  my  trunk,  sure  enough,  though  I 
did  not  think  I  would  ever  have  use  for  it  again." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Am  liebsten  mocht  ich  sterben, 
Dann  war's  auf  ein  mal  still." 

— Uhland. 

It  was  not  the  last  ride  they  took  together.  Something 
of  the  old  light  came  back  into  Geraldine's  eyes,  some 
thing  of  the  former  color  into  her  cheeks,  when  she  was 
on  her  horse.  There  was  something  both  tender  and 
joyful  about  her,  during  these  rides,  that  brought  her 
nearer  to  this  man  Hollis  than  she  had  realized  at  first; 
these  were  the  only  bright  hours  in  her  now  dreary  ex 
istence,  and  she  enjoyed  them  with  mingled  bitterness 
and  pleasure.  Often,  on  her  return  to  her  solitary  apart 
ment  at  her  boarding  house,  she  would  throw  aside  hat 
and  habit  with  the  determination  never  to  see  Mr.  Hollis 
and  his  horses  again;  but  with  a  sneer  at  herself  she 
would  ask:  "Who  cares ?" 

One  other  Saturday  she  had  returned  from  her  ride, 
and  while  Mr.  Hollis  was  giving  some  direction  to  the 
groom,  Geraldine  entered  the  vestibule,  where  two  chil 
dren  were  at  play.  She  had  often  noticed  the  cherub-like 
beauty  of  the  little,  toddling  boy,  and  she  stopped  today 
for  the  first  time  to  speak  to  him.  He  held  out  both  his 
fat  fists  to  her,  but  as  she  stooped  over  to  kiss  him,  the 
eight-year-old  sister  in  charge,  pulled  him  hastily  aside. 

"Come  away,  Freddy,"  she  exclaimed  most  ungracious 
ly,  and  then  with  a  disparaging  look  at  Geraldine's  old 
black  habit,  added  in  explanation :  "Mamma  says  she 
don't  think  you're  very  'spectable  nohow,  'cause  you 
ain't  hardly  got  no  good  clothes  to  wear." 


174        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Your  mamma  is  perfectly  correct,  in  premises  and 
conclusion;  and  you  may  take  that  for  your  informa- 
tion,"  and  she  laid  her  whip  across  the  young  one's 
shoulder  to  such  good  purpose  that  a  howl  from  the 
girl  and  terrified  cries  from  the  boy  filled  the  hall  with 
discord. 

In  an  instant  Mr.  Hollis  was  beside  her.  "What  have 
you  done?"  he  asked  in  vexed  tones. 

"I  have  burned  my  ships  behind  me,"  was  the  reckless 
reply,  but  her  flaming  cheeks  grew  white  as  snow. 

"Go  to  your  room,  instantly,"  said  Mr.  Hollis  in  his 
quick,  determined  way,  for  doors  were  opened  in  every 
direction,  and  hurried  footsteps  flew  along  the  stairs. 
He  drew  his  watch.  "In  half  an  hour,  to  the  minute, 
there  will  be  a  carriage  at  the  door ;  you  can  stay  here  no 
longer."  And  he  turned  to  go,  without  the  ceremony  of 
farewell. 

Late  that  evening,  after  dinner,  Mr.  Hollis  called  at 
the  Blank  Hotel  and  sent  up  his  card  to  Mrs.  Gushing. 
When  the  lady  had  signified  her  pleasure  to  receive  the 
visitor,  one  of  the  older  servants  preceded  him  to  Mrs. 
Cushing's  apartments,  threw  open  the  door  and  retired, 
bowing. 

It  was  a  very  pretty  picture  that  presented  itself  to 
the  gentleman's  view — a  large,  handsome,  brilliantly- 
lighted  room ;  and  the  figure  just  stepping  out  from  the 
curtained  arch  of  a  window  recess,  seemed  the  proper 
occupant  for  the  place.  In  evening  dress  of  pale  pink, 
yellow  tea  roses  in  her  black  hair  and  lying  on  her 
black  hair  and  lying  on  her  snowy  bosom,  Geraldine  was 
beautiful  as  he  had  never  dreamed  she  was. 


PENITENCIA  175 

"Superb !"  He  could  not  repress  the  exclamation,  but 
warned  by  the  quick  contraction  of  her  brow,  he  added 
quickly,  "I  had  no  idea  that  tea  roses  grew  to  such  per 
fection  anywhere  but  in  the  hot  interior  of  California/' 

Geraldine's  eyes  sparkled  as  she  turned  to  the  mantle- 
shelf  and  exclaimed: 

"Here  are  more  of  them ;  he  must  have  plundered  the 
entire  country  at  your  behest.  They  are  beautiful,  and 
so  delicately  fragrant." 

"You  like  my  choice  of  roses,  then?"  he  asked.  "And 
did  I  select  the  rooms  you  like,  or  is  my  taste  a  little 
rusty,  in  this  direction." 

"On  the  contrary,  you  must  possess  Aladdin's  lamp, 
else  how  could  everything  be  complete,  even  to  the  piano 
when  you  had  hardly  an  hour  for  your  task." 

"In  San  Francisco,"  he  replied,  "I  find  that  twenty- 
dollar  pieces  form  a  very  good  substitute  for  Aladdin's 
lamp.  And  since  you  approve  of  my  taste  in  furnish 
ings,  allow  me  to  say  that  your  taste  in  dress  has  not 
grown  rusty.  Was  this  in  the  trunk  with  the  despised 
riding  habit?" 

"It  wras.  You  must  bear  in  mind  that  Fort  Hardinge 
was  a  three-company  post,  and  there  was  assembly 
occasionally,  which  was  not  called  together  by  the  bugle. 
There  were  more  elegant  dresses  there  than  mine,  though 
I  was  belle  at  the  post  for  two  seasons." 

It  was  delightful  to  see  her  face  now,  animated  and 
rosy,  with  no  trace  left  of  the  storm  that  had  swept  over 
it,  earlier  in  the  day.  If  the  genial  mood  would  only 
last,  thought  her  listener. 

She  rang  for  tea  after  a  while,  and  Mr.  Hollis  enjoyed 
the  air  of  home  which  the  apartment  wore  and  which 


176        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Geraldine's  presence  seemed  to  shed  over  it.  Then  she 
opened  the  piano  and  in  a  spirit  of  mischief  she  played 
the  Nocturne  which  Mrs.  Bingham  had  condemned  as 
too  slow;  and  later,  when  she  sang,  he  lost  himself  in 
dreams  as  a  lovelorn  youth  might  have  done.  But  he 
aroused  himself  to  think  of  the  fiery  temper,  of  the  un 
governable  spirit  which  even  he,  with  his  many  millions 
could  not  subdue,  and  which  he  stood  in  constant 
dread  of. 

She  whirled  around  on  the  music  stool  laughing  and 
gleeful,  when  he  applauded  her  song,  and  she  turned  to 
the  key-board  once  more  and  grew  quickly  absorbed  in 
her  play.  Then  a  look  came  into  her  face  that  puzzled 
him,  and  when  the  last  chords  died  slowly  away  she 
closed  the  instrument  and  walked  across  the  room. 

"A  'mighty  martial  strain*  was  in  that  music,"  he  said 
in  honest  admiration.  "What  is  the  name  of  the  march." 

"Soldaten-Kind,"  she  made  answer,  looking  away  from 
him,  into  the  broad  mirror  on  the  mantle  by  which  she 
was  standing. 

"You  play  Liszt,  Schubert  and  Wagner,  too.  What  is 
your  favorite  music,  though?" 

"The  fife  and  drum  and  the  bugle.  I'd  gladly  die  to 
have  the  fife  and  drum  play  at  my  funeral  as  they  play 
at  the  funeral  of  the  poorest  soldier  in  the  ranks."  And 
flinging  up  her  hands  with  the  gesture  of  despair  that 
seemed  to  be  out  of  place  in  that  glittering  surrounding, 
she  dropped  her  face  on  the  cold,  white  marble  of  the 
mantle  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

So  the  storm  had  broken,  and  he  knew  how  fiercely 
the  tempest  would  rage.  He  felt  guilty  standing  there 
and  watching  her  in  her  wild  anguish;  he  deemed  it 


PENITENCIA  177 

wiser,  too,  to  vanish  from  the  scene,  and  he  left  her,  as 
he  had  done  earlier  in  the  day  without  the  ceremony  of 

farewell. 

*        *        *        * 

The  season  at  Santa  Cruz  had  fairly  opened,  and  the 
beach  was  gay  with  groups  of  chattering,  laughing  peo 
ple,  who  watched  the  actions  and  antics  of  the  other 
people  who  were  in  the  surf.  Geraldine  was  with  neither 
of  these,  but  sat  apart  from  the  throng.  Though  she  had 
not  yet  been  in  the  surf  this  morning,  she  was  already 
known  as  a  brave  swimmer  on  the  beach,  for  she  was 
reckless,  to  the  horror  of  the  swimming  masters. 

Since  the  day  she  left  the  boarding  house,  where  her 
shabby  clothes  had  been  sneered  at,  she  had  not  known 
the  lack  of  fine  apparel,  and  even  her  bathing  dress  was 
made  of  corded  silk.  But  Geraldine  had  never  been  in 
ordinately  fond  of  dress,  and  she  looked  none  the  hap 
pier  in  her  silk  attire. 

Her  bare  arm  was  resting  on  the  log  beside  which  she 
was  reclining,  and  her  face  was  turned  full  to  the  sea, 
upon  which  the  great,  sad  eyes  rested.  As  the  surf  came 
in  with  its  irresistible  power  and  its  hoarse  roll  of  thun 
der,  she  wanted  to  shout  out  under  the  wild  uproar — 

"Break— break— break ! 
On  thy  cold  grey  rocks,  0  sea " 

But  when  the  waves  retreated  with  their  musical 
splash,  they  sang  back  to  her  in  little  tremulous  rip 
ples: 

"For  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead, 
Will  never  come  back  to  me." 

It  grew  maddening  at  last — always  the  same  song :  the 
very  waves  seemed  to  mock  her,  and  she  would  listen  to  it 


178        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

no  longer.  There  was  so  strange  a  fascination  in  it 
though,  that  she  could  not  leave,  and  she  heard  nothing 
but  what  the  waves  said;  she  did  not  hear  the  quick, 
regular  footsteps  approaching,  and  not  till  a  shadow  fell 
upon  her  did  she  look  up.  A  pair  of  dark  eyes  were  gaz 
ing  at  her,  and  warm,  strong  hands  were  stretched  out 
to  her.  A  sudden  joy  transfigured  all  her  being. 

"Winstead,"  she  said,  as  she  drew  him  down  beside 
her. 

"Mrs.  Borden  frightened  me  so ;  she  said  you  would  not 
come  to  her,  but  had  gone  to  the  seashore  for  your  shat 
tered  nerves.  But  you  do  not  look  sick — you  are  hand 
some  as  ever — "  his  very  heart  was  in  his  eyes. 

"And  you,"  she  said  in  low,  tender  tones,  "look  just  as 
I  have  seen  you  in  my  dreams,  a  hundred  times." 

"Then  I  may  hope,  Geraldine,  for  you  know  why  I 
have  come." 

She  flung  his  hand  from  her  as  her  face  grew  ashen, 
and  she  rose  from  his  side  with  a  bound.  Why  did  she 
stand  so  still,  the  man  was  wondering?  Was  she  listen 
ing  to  the  discordant  cries  of  the  sea-mew  that  seemed 
suddenly  to  hover  close  around  them. 

"Geraldine,"  he  said,  but  she  interupted  him  with  a 
quick  laugh. 

"But  that  is  not  my  name  now,"  she  made  answer, 
"my  name  is  Penitencia." 

"Penitencia!".  She  had  drawn  a  folded  paper  from 
the  belt  of  her  dress,  which  she  gave  him.  "It  is  a  letter 
that  reached  me  this  morning,"  she  went  on ;  "it  will  ex 
plain  why  I  changed  my  name.  While  you  read  I  will 
take  my  last  swim  in  the  surf." 

He  was  dazed  and  undetermined,  but  she  stamped  her 


PENITENCIA  179 

foot  in  the  old  imperious  manner.  "Read,  I  tell  you, 
read/'  she  repeated,  and  he  mechanically  unfolded  the 
paper,  while  she  made  her  way  lightly  to  the  water's 
edge. 

Then  he  read  the  letter,  once,  twice,  as  in  a  nightmare, 
and  with  a  cry  he  started  to  read  again.  But  the  cry 
seemed  to  be  taken  up  by  a  thousand  voices,  and  when 
he  looked  up  he  saw  a  great  concourse  of  people  gather 
ed  just  where  he  had  seen  Geraldine  last;  and  running 
forward  he  saw  both  swimming  masters  far  out  in  the 
surf.  The  instinct  of  the  soldier,  to  rescue  and  aid,  were 
strong  within  Hugh  Winstead,  and  he  threw  off  his  coat 
and  boots  almost  without  knowing  it.  But  not  till  he  met 
one  of  the  swimming  masters  struggling  back  to  the  shore 
with  a  lifeless  body  hanging  limp  on  his  arm,  did  he 
know  whom  he  had  vainly  tried  to  save. 

In  the  old  cemetery,  not  far  away,  they  made  her  grave, 
and  on  the  cross  that  marked  it,  was  but  the'onejword — 


PENITENCIA. 


DESDEMONA 

"But,  Gregoria— -" 

"Ciertamente,  mi  querida." 

"I  am  going  out  walking — " 

"Si,  senora." 

"And  alone!" 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

And  with  each  affirmative  pronounced  by  the  maid, 
the  mistress  grew  more  confident  of  her  own  defeat. 
Gregoria,  after  conscientiously  fastening  the  last  button 
in  the  elegant  walking  boots,  surveyed  with  a  look  of 
pride  the  pretty  little  feet  resting  on  the  velvet  cushion ; 
while  the  eyes  of  her  mistress  roved  slowly  around  the 
room,  much  as  a  bird  might  look  about  him  in  his  gilded 
cage. 

"Tell  me  your  dream  again,  querida,"  urged  the  attend 
ant  spirit,  in  a  coaxing  voice,  passing  her  hands  lovingly 
over  the  feet  of  the  lady  before  rising  from  her  kneeling 
posture.  "You  can  not  go  walk  this  morning  because 
your  new  bonnet  no  come  home.  Meeses  Milliner  for 
get,  my  lady,"  she  continued. 

Gregoria  had  been  taken  to  Washington  by  Mrs. 
Colonel  Graham,  when  the  Colonel  had  been  ordered 
from  his  post  in  New  Mexico  to  appear  before  the  Retir 
ing  Board,  very  much  against  his  will,  for  he  wore  only 
the  silver  leaf  of  the  lieutenant-colonel  on  his  shoulder, 
and  naturally  preferred  to  be  retired  on  colonel's  pay. 
Gregoria,  a  Mexican,  the  daughter  of  parents  who  had 
been  killed  by  the  Apaches  before  Colonel  Graham  could 


DESDEMONA  181 

rescue  them,  was  no  mean  adept  at  playing  lady's  maid 
when  she  grew  up;  and  while  in  Washington  acquired 
not  only  great  skill  in  hair-dressing  and  the  finer 
branches,  but  learned  from  the  maid  of  Lady  Arbuthnot, 
a  friend  of  her  mistress,  the  fashion  of  addressing  her, 
too,  as  she  heard  "my  lady"  addressed  by  her  maid,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  two  ladies.  Her  present  mis 
tress,  the  orphaned  daughter  of  Colonel  Graham — and 
who  had  grown  up,  one  might  say,  on  the  back  of  the 
sturdy,  dark-visaged  Mexican — had  never  been  so  ad 
dressed  by  her  until  after  her  marriage  to  the  millionaire- 
merchant,  by  whose  name,  Watson,  Gregoria  could  not 
be  made  to  call  her  mistress,  for  the  Colonel  was  dead, 
and  there  was  no  one  here  who  wore  uniform  or  of  whom 
the  girl  stood  in  awe.  She  had  tyrannized  over  her  little 
mistress  from  the  time  she  was  brought  half  dead, 
thrown  across  a  trooper's  saddle,  into  Fort  Craig;  and 
she  still  wielded  her  scepter  over  her,  though  she  would 
have  laid  down  her  life  for  her  willingly,  then  as  now. 

The  eyes  of  the  mistress — beautiful  eyes  of  golden 
brown,  with  a  wistful,  longing  look  in  them  that  was 
pathetic  to  behold — had  strayed  out  through  the  window 
into  the  bright  sunshine,  which  had  inspired  her  with 
the  desire  for  a  solitary  ramble  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  the  city  that  morning. 

"I  have  been  thinking  what  a  strange  dream  it  was," 
said  the  lady  thoughtfully;  "and  if  I  were  as  supersti 
tious  as  you,  Gregoria,  I  should  try  to  find  some  meaning 
in  it.  But  I  did  not  dream  about  myself ;  that  is  the  only 
queer  thing  about  it.  I  saw  and  knew  all  these  things, 
but  they  did  not  happen  to  me.  Even  the  walk  through 
the  strange  thoroughfares — I  saw  them  all  and  would 


182        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

recognize  them;  but  it  was  not  I  that  walked  there.  I 
see  again  the  steep,  narrow  street  which  led  out  of  a 
busy  thoroughfare — not  any  of  the  streets  I  have  ever 
passed  through,  but  a  street  far  remote  from  Kearny, 
Market  or  Montgomery  Street,  teeming  with  life,  but 
not  the  life  of  these  other  streets.  The  little,  narrow 
street  was  perfectly  clean,  with  planked  sidewalks  and 
planked  driveways;  but  no  vehicles  could  travel  above 
the  first  street  that  intersected  it,  and  there  were  steps  on 
the  sidewalk  that  one  ascended  in  order  to  reach  the 
street  next  above.  But  the  two  corner  stores,  just 
before  the  rise  began,  were  particularly  noticeable;  the 
one  was  a  grocery  store,  small  but  well  kept,  and  many 
people  were  going  in  and  out,  and  everything  seemed 
cheerful  and  thriving.  The  other  corner — the  right  hand 
corner  as  you  went  up,  looked  entirely  different.  This, 
too,  was  a  one-story  house,  but  the  storeroom  stood 
empty.  It  had  been  a  small  florist  establishment,  for 
there  were  still  remnants  of  the  wire  frames  for  floral 
designs,  and  one  or  two  broken  baskets  on  the  counter; 
and  in  the  little  show  window  there  stood,  half  withered, 
a  bouquet  which  had  evidently  been  made  for  a  grave 
decoration.  The  flowers  looked  so  neglected  and  for 
gotten  that  they  made  an  inexpressibly  sad  impression — 
particularly  as  the  place  adjoining  this  little  florist  shop 
was  an  undertaking  establishment,  and  it  fronted  on  a 
wider  street,  of  which  I  saw  nothing  farther  in  my 
dream." 

"After  ascending  the  five  or  six  steps  in  the  sidewalk 
that  led  to  the  higher  lying  street,  one  was  quite  agree 
ably  surprised  by  the  broad,  quiet  terrace  that  one 
stepped  on  to.  Opposite  to  the  end  of  the  little  narrow 


DESDEMONA  183 

street — for  it  did  end  here — stood  a  new-looking  house  of 
three  stories,  with  a  wide  entrance  door,  and  a  number 
of  signs  on  either  side  of  the  door." 

"What  they  say,  querida?"  asked  Gregoria,  impa 
tiently,  when  her  mistress,  with  closed  eyes,  leaned  back 
in  her  chair. 

"I  am  trying  to  remember/'  she  answered  with  an 
effort.  "Yes — I  see  it  now.  There  was  one  sign  that 
read:  'Finely  furnished  room  for  offices  or  housekeep 
ing';  another  bore  the  name  of  a  doctor;  and  a  dress 
maker's  sign  was  there;  two  or  three  teachers  of 
languages,  and  a  dancing-master.  Just  opposite  to  the 
entrance  door  was  a  wide  staircase,  clean,  well-kept  and 
carpeted,  with  brightly  polished  banisters,  leading  up 
to  the  second  story.  Reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs 
there  was  a  door  just  across  the  hall;  a  dark-colored, 
handsome  door  with  elaborate  lock  and  door-knob,  and 
when  it  opened  one  looked  right  straight  at  the  only 
window  in  this  large,  high-ceiled  room.  From  this  win 
dow  could  be  seen  trees  in  the  garden  below — it  was  on 
the  edge  of  town — and  the  house  had  not  been  long  built. 
Between  the  door  and  the  window,  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  stood  a  large,  square  table,  dark-colored,  too, 
and  brightly  polished.  There  had  been  a  cover,  or  rug, 
on  the  table;  but  some  one  had  snatched  it  off  hastily 
to  throw  it  over  a  couch  that  stood  against  the  wall  near 
the  table.  Or  rather  to  throw  it  over  the  man  who  lay 
on  this  couch — dead;  over  his  head  and  face  and  chest. 
But  one  hand,  white,  with  long,  slender  fingers,  was  vis 
ible,  and  it  held  a  paper  with  something  written  on  it." 
Again  she  paused,  with  her  eyes  closed;  was  she  trying 


184        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

to  read  what  was  traced  on  the  paper?  But  her  maid 
broke  the  silence. 

"How  he  look?    You  see  his  dress? 

"I  did  not  see  him,"  her  mistress  protested.  "I  did  not 
dream  that  I  was  there.  But  the  man  was  tall,  and  he 
was  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  canvas — the  dark  brown 
duck  clothes  they  wear  when  they  go  hunting  or  fishing. 
The  feet  were  narrow  and  well  shaped  and  covered  with 
fine  boots,  not  shoes.  Near  the  couch,  her  back  to  the 
door,  her  face  to  the  window,  stood  a  woman,  looking 
intently  at  the  form  on  the  couch,  and  clasping  her  hands 
in  mute  agony.  But  she  did  not  belong  there ;  she  was  in 
walking  dress.  She  wore  a  light  wrap  of  some  kind,  and 
on  her  head  was  a  dark  bonnet  with  a  bright  yellow  rose. 
When  the  woman  turned  and  went  down  over  the  broad 
staircase  there  were  two  people  hiding  under  its  shadow, 
and  a  woman  was  trying  to  smother  her  sobs,  while  the 
man  whispered  brokenly,  'He  told  me  to  come  at  ten 
o'clock  this  morning,  but  make  no  sign  till  eleven,  no 
matter  what  I  might  see/ ' 

"And  you  want  go  out  walking,  alone,  after  such  a 
vision,  my  lady?"  asked  Gregoria  in  horror. 

Mistress  and  maid  had  both  become  so  absorbed  in 
the  recital  of  the  weird  dream  that  they  were  quite 
startled  by  a  low  tap  on  the  door.  James  announced, 
"The  Misses  Starr,"  and  without  awaiting  an  order  Gre 
goria  rushed  downstairs  to  show  up  the  young  ladies 
personally,  glad  of  the  pleasant  interruption  to  their 
gloomy  fancies. 

Most  affectionately  were  the  two  young  ladies  greeted 
by  their  somewhat  older  friend.  Their  father,  Colonel 
Starr,  had  been  a  classmate  of  her  own  father  at  West 


DESDEMONA  185 

Point,  and  having  been  retired  from  active  service  had 
chosen  San  Francisco  for  his  residence.  When  Gre- 
goria  had  relieved  the  young  ladies  of  their  wraps,  they 
looked  around  the  room  for  some  new  addition  to  its 
really  tasteful  and  artistic  furnishing,  but  discovered 
only  a  slender  cut-glass  vase,  small  but  costly,  on  the 
beautifully  inlaid  escritoire,  which  in  one  breath  both 
girls  pronounced  lovely.  Their  mother,  too,  had  once 
given  her  opinion  in  regard  to  some  of  the  art  treasures 
in  the  little  boudoir.  The  millionaire-husband,  having 
purchased  two  paintings  for  this  room,  wanted  the  lady 
to  say  what  she  thought  of  them — one  a  scene  from 
"Othello,"  where  Desdemona  listens  in  wrapt  attention 
to  the  recital  of  the  hair-breadth  'scapes  of  the  dusky 
hero;  the  other  a  Madonna  by  Defregger,  the  Madonna 
of  Consolation.  With  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things  the  lady  had  decided,  with  a  slight  em 
phasis  on  the  possessive  pronoun,  "Very  appropriate — 
for  your  wife's  room." 

There  was  new  music  to  be  tried.  Gregoria  had  already 
opened  the  piano  and  the  sweet  face  of  the  hostess  had 
gained  a  tinge  of  color  and  a  touch  of  animation  in  the 
pleasure  of  entertaining  her  guests,  when  there  came 
another  tap  at  the  door  and  the  servant  entered  with  a 
card. 

"Shall  be  pleased,  James.  Come  girls."  She  handed 
the  card  to  Anna,  the  eldest,  who,  reading  aloud : 

"Major  Sutton,  Roy  Carleton,"  ran  lightly  down  the 
stairs,  followed  by  her  sister,  Isabel. 

Their  hostess  walked  slowly  after  them,  still  and 
white,  but  with  her  heart  a-flutter,  a  whirl  of  memories 
surging  through  her  brain  and  a  wild  longing  for  her  lost 


186        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

youth  and  her  short  dream  of  bliss  to  come  back.  Roy 
Carleton!  Ah  me!  She  was  a  girl  again,  light-hearted 
and  happy,  dashing  across  the  breezy  plain,  the  hand 
some  young  officer  by  her  side  to  be  the  one  dearer  to 
her  than  all  the  world  else.  How  the  horses  bounded 
along  under  their  light  burden — neck  and  neck — till  a 
strong,  shapely  hand  could  seize  the  slender  fingers  in 
the  little  gauntlet  and  arrest  the  speed  of  the  horses, 
turning  his  own  so  that  he  could  look  into  the  animated 
face  of  the  graceful  girl  on  her  milk-white  steed.  Oh, 
the  freedom  of  the  wide,  wild  plain,  and  the  home-coming 
from  the  glorious  rides!  In  an  instant  the  luxury  and 
stateliness  of  her  grand  house  sank  into  oblivion,  and 
the  white  shelter  of  the  tent — the  homely  mud  walls  of 
adobe  quarters — the  dug-out — the  barracks,  rose  up 
before  her,  alluring  and  enticing  beyond  expression.  To 
be  free — free — and  by  his  side. 

And  then  James  held  the  door  open  and  she  stepped 
across  the  threshhold. 

Major  Sutton  had  taken  possession  of  the  two  young 
girls.  "Twin  stars  of  beauty,  bursting  on  my  dazzled 
sight!"  he  exclaimed.  "Come  forward  to  the  light,  my 
dears,  and  let's  count  the  new  wrinkles  you've  got  since  I 
saw  you  last."  And  he  drew  them  to  the  window  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  where  little  indignant  shrieks  and 
ejaculations  told  of  the  critical  examination  going  on 
there. 

But  she,  who  had  crossed  the  threshold  last,  stood  by 
the  closed  door  a  moment,  speechless,  and  making  a  piti 
ful  effort  to  gain  control  over  herself. 

"Roy !"  was  all  her  trembling  lips  could  utter. 


DESDEMONA  187 

He  bent  over  a  little  hand,  cold  as  marble ;  and,  hoarse 
with  emotion,  he  murmured,  "Eva — my  love — my  love !" 

She  drew  her  hand  from  his  clasp.  "I  did  not  know 
of  your  coming,  Roy;  why  did  you  come?  It  will  kill 
me !  Oh,  if  I  had  only  died — long  ago — before — before — " 

"My  poor  child — God  pity  you !  God  pity  us  both !  It 
was  not  well  to  barter  you  away  for  this  man's  gold;  it 
was  hard  and  cruel."  He  gazed  at  her  with  darkening 
eyes.  "Sutton  and  I  were  ordered  quite  unexpectedly 
to  report  at  the  Presidio,  and  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had 
looked  upon  your  face  once  more." 

Major  Sutton  had  finished  his  inspection ;  pronounced 
Anna's  nose  covered  with  freckles,  on  Isabel's  forehead 
plain  traces  of  toilet  powder,  and  the  two  beginning  to 
look  like  the  hopeless  old  maids  they  soon  would  be — 
unless  old  Sutton  married  them. 

"What — both?"  they  asked  in  one  breath;  and  the 
old  bachelor  declared  that  he  again  stood  before  the  diffi 
culty  that  had  always  prevented  him  from  getting  mar 
ried — they  all  wanted  him,  and  he  could  marry  only  one. 

Before  the  merriment  had  subsided  there  was  happily 
a  new  incident  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  company 
from  Eva's  pale  face  and  the  frowning  brow  of  Captain 
Carleton.  The  door  swung  back  and  Gregoria's  form 
appeared  in  the  frame,  and  she  announced  with  solemn 
dignity  that  madam  was  served  with  wine  and  "bissek- 
queet"  in  the  little  morning  room.  She  was  greeted  with 
a  peal  of  laughter,  and  the  Major  sprang  forward  to 
shake  her  by  both  hands. 

"What,  Gregoria,  still  in  command  here?" 

To  which  the  dusky  household  tyrant  replied,  in  the 
sonorous  voice  of  her  race,  "A  brava  soldier  never  aban- 


188        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCEACKlN 

done  hees  post,"  a  sentiment  the  Major  applauded,  clap 
ping  his  hands  and  nudging  the  Captain  to  do  the  same. 
But  Gregoria  had  stepped  up  to  greet  El  Capitan  with 
the  freedom  she  had  always  been  granted,  and  inquired 
after  old  friends  in  his  troop. 

"Did  you  make  Morton  a  Sergeant,  Teniente?"  she 
asked.  She  had  known  the  Captain  when  he  was  but 
junior  lieutenant  and  she  dropped  back  into  the  old  form 
of  address. 

"Morton  does  not  want  to  be  made  Sergeant ;  they  are 
not  all  proud,  like  yourself,  Gregoria,"  the  Major  an 
swered  in  Roy's  place. 

"Morton  is  my  orderly  and  is  here  with  me,"  the  Cap 
tain  informed  her;  "he,  too,  will  come  to  see  you,  I  am 
sure,  Gregoria." 

Morton  was  the  soldier  whom  Captain — then  Lieu 
tenant — Carleton  had  carried  out  of  range  of  Apache 
arrows  when  they  had  been  ambushed  on  a  scout  at  one 
time.  Morton's  horse  had  been  shot  under  him,  the 
trooper's  leg  broken  in  the  fall,  making  him  helpless. 
In  stooping  over  him,  the  young  officer  had  been  struck 
on  the  side  of  the  face  by  a  glancing  ball,  which  had  left 
its  mark  without  detriment  to  the  good  looks  of  the 
stripling.  Morton,  however,  had  been  transferred  and 
retransferred  since  then,  from  troop  to  troop,  as  his  com 
mander  rose  in  rank,  so  as  to  be  near  the  man  to  whom 
he  owed  his  life. 

They  had  adjourned  to  the  cozy  little  apartment  in 
which  the  wine  and  "bissekqueet"  had  been  set  forth,  and 
Gregoria  having  banished  all  other  servants,  was  care 
ful  that  the  guests  should  have  no  cause  to  complain 
of  her  attendance.  Conversation  never  flagged;  there 


DESDEMONA  189 

were  passages  at  arms  between  Major  Sutton  and  the 
two  young  girls;  gay  laughter  and  good-humored  if  not 
brilliant  repartee.  Before  the  hostess  fairly  realized  the 
fact,  she  had  been  made  to  promise  that  she  would 
chaperon  a  party  to  a  theater  performance  two  days 
hence,  Mr.  Watson  to  be  of  the  party  if  he  choose.  There 
was  a  very  good  troupe  at  the  ''California"  and  whatever 
they  played  would  be  sure  to  be  acceptable,  so  that  the 
girls  were  in  high  glee,  and  Eva's  approbation  was  so 
ably  expressed  by  Gregoria  that  no  one  noticed  her  lady's 
silence. 

At  last  the  Major  proposed  that  all  three  ladies  come 
out  for  a  promenade ;  but  the  hostess  excused  herself  on 
the  plea  that  she  must  remain  to  preside  at  her  husband's 
luncheon.  And  while  Gregoria  attended  the  visitors  to 
the  door,  noting  with  secret  dread  the  set  whiteness  of 
the  Captain's  face,  her  mistress  lay  on  her  knees,  her 
head  buried  in  the  brocade  of  the  first  chair  she  had 
reached  in  her  boudoir,  sobbing  out  the  misery  and 
despair  she  had  kept  in  check  while  her  friends  were 
with  her.  For  once  the  barriers  were  broken  and  the 
flood-gates  opened,  and  Gregoria,  who,  to  tell  the  truth 
was  "peeking"  through  the  key-hole,  though  the  door 
was  not  locked,  thought  it  best  to  put  no  restraint  on  her 
querida's  passionate  grief,  but  let  her  cry  her  sorrow 
out. 

At  the  late  lunch,  at  which  Mr.  Watson  always  ex 
pected  to  see  his  wife  preside — since  he  was  an  early 
riser  and  took  breakfast  without  her — Gregoria  again 
was  the  only  attendant,  not  because  there  were  no  other 
servants  but  because  she  had  so  ordered  it.  Gregoria's 
word  was  law,  and  although  her  rule  sometimes  galled 


190        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Mr.  Watson,  he  knew  he  could  never  shake  it  off.  He 
had  tried  it  once,  and  she  had  simply  said,  "I  go — My 
lady  go,  too,"  and  the  millionaire  husband  knew  she 
meant  it.  Though  perfectly  respectful  in  her  demeanor, 
especially  before  company,  Gregoria  had  not  the  least 
fear  of  the  man  before  her  eyes.  Why,  he  had  not  so 
much  as  a  Sergeant's  chevrons  on  his  sleeve;  so  what 
did  he  amount  to?  He  could  not  even  put  her  into  the 
guard-house,  as  Sergeant  Cook  had  once  done  at  the 
post  in  New  Mexico.  She  had  been  a  girl  of  twelve  then, 
her  querida  five  years  younger,  and  she  had  constructed 
a  little  cart,  with  the  aid  of  the  Commissary  Sergeant,  to 
haul  Eva  around  in,  since  she  was  too  big  to  carry  huck- 
a-puck.  Her  master  had  cautioned  her  once  or  twice  not 
to  come  near  the  parade  ground  at  guard-mount;  but 
she  had  come  thundering  up  with  her  little  cart  in  spite 
of  his  warning,  till  the  Colonel  gave  the  Sergeant  a  pre 
concerted  signal  one  day  and  Gregoria  was  seized  and 
ignobly  carried  off  to  the  guard-house,  which  was  only 
a  tent  at  the  time.  But  it  was  the  guard-house  all  the 
same ;  and  while  Gregoria  was  inside  howling  like  a  pack 
of  coyotes,  but  afraid  to  go  near  the  canvas  walls  of  the 
prison,  Eva  sat  outside,  at  the  back  of  the  tent,  crying 
fit  to  break  her  heart,  and  beating  against  the  canvas 
with  both  little  fists  in  rage  and  despair. 

At  luncheon,  between  the  changing  of  the  plates,  the 
visitors  of  the  morning  were  discussed;  and  although 
the  dark,  stealthy  eyes  of  the  master  had  directed  a  low 
ering  glance  at  her  mistress  when  Captain  Carleton's 
name  was  mentioned,  Gregoria,  with  an  audacity  which 
only  she  possessed,  had  followed  up  the  news  by  the 
information  that  Mr.  Watson  would  accompany  her  lady 


DESDEMONA  191 

to  the  play — her  lady  to  wear  the  beautiful  lavender  silk 
with  the  pearls  which  the  affectionate  husband  had  lately 
presented  to  the  wife.  Mr.  Watson  was  easily  persuaded 
into  giving  his  consent  to  everything  Gregoria  proposed. 
This  luncheon  hour,  he  knew  from  experience,  could  be 
made  extremely  pleasant,  or  just  the  reverse,  by 
Gregoria.  It  was  the  only  time  when  they  were  strictly 
en  famille,  for  there  was  always  company  at  dinner,  and 
he  liked  to  think  that  his  lovely  young  wife  enjoyed  his 
company — while  it  lasted.  At  dinner,  while  the  grand 
butler  held  sway,  Gregoria  was  less  oppressive;  but  at 
breakfast  and  lunch  he  was  completely  at  her  mercy. 

Captain  Carleton  had  sent  a  very  pretty  theater  bouquet 
of  lilies-of-the-valley  for  Mrs.  Watson,  while  Major  Sut- 
ton  presented  the  two  Misses  Starr  with  pink  and  white 
camelias.  The  party  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention 
at  the  play;  the  two  young  ladies  were  handsome  and 
distinguished  looking,  the  gentlemen  with  them  were 
pronounced  soldiers  in  spite  of  their  black  suits,  and  Mrs. 
Watson,  pale  and  fragile  looking,  was — Mrs.  Watson; 
while  her  husband  was  an  object  of  note  on  account  of 
his  millions  and  his  pretty  wife. 

Captain  Carleton's  eyes  sought  the  face  of  the  poor, 
rich  man's  wife  more  than  once;  lilies-of-the-valley  were 
her  flowers,  as  the  stately  camelia  belonged  to  the  young 
girls  beside  her.  Infinitely  more  touching,  to  his  mind, 
was  the  drooping  little  lily;  but  the  world  looks  with 
greater  admiration  upon  roses  and  camelias.  The  eyes 
of  the  husband,  however,  had  spied  the  look  that  sought 
his  wife's  face,  and  the  glowering,  suspicious  expression, 
that  was  natural  to  the  man,  grew  deeper  and  harder  as 
he  watched  the  sensitive  creature  flush  and  pale  beneath 


192        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

his  scrutiny.  How  he  hated  Roy  Carleton  from  the  very 
first!  What  business  had  he  to  come  to  his  house — the 
costly  cage  he  had  built  for  the  shy  little  bird  he  had 
bought — no,  captured.  If  it  were  not  for  that  cursed 
black  Indian  at  home,  with  her  devilish  impudence  and 
her  fierce  determination,  he  would  make  short  work 
with  that  handsome  Captain  and  all  the  rest  of  his  wife's 
friends  who  clung  to  her  for  her  father's  sake — he  said 
to  himself.  Oh,  he  could  break  and  tame  Eva  easily 
enough  if  it  were  not  for  that  hateful  Mexican ! 

In  the  meantime  the  orchestra  had  given  as  overture 
Scheffel's  "Trompeter  von  Sekkinger"— "Behut  Dich 
Gott,  es  war  so  schon  gewesen,"  and  the  Major  turned  to 
Mr.  Watson  with  the  grumbling  remark : 

"I'll  bet  you  every  last  man  in  that  band  is  a  German ; 
they  are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  can  make  people 
miserable  with  their  doleful  music." 

And  Roy  Carleton  had  turned  to  Eva  with  a  look  that 
said:  "Do  you  remember?"  She  did  remember,  for  she 
asked:  "Do  you  sing  much  now?" 

The  answer  was  low  and  only  Eva's  ears  caught  the 
words:  "Never,  since — " 

Then  the  play  progressed  and  every  one  was  absorbed, 
or  could  pretend  to  be.  But  Eva  would  not  stay  for  the 
last  act;  she  said  it  made  her  nervous;  and  the  intense 
pallor  of  her  face  made  her  statement  convincing.  Roy 
had  been  beside  her  for  some  time;  she  felt  the  jealous 
eyes  of  her  husband  on  her  and  the  lips  of  the  soldier 
curled  in  bitter  contempt. 

"Othello  in  real  life,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer;  "a  charm 
ing  side  play  to  Othello  on  the  stage.  Alas  for  Desde- 


DESDEMONA  193 

mona!  'I  do  mistrust  thee,  woman,  and  each  word  of 
thine/  " 

"Roy,"  she  pleaded  with  white  lips,  "do  not  be  so 
cruel.  Kill  me.  I  will  gladly  die  by  your  hand,  but  do 
not  torture  me." 

And  in  defiance  of  the  stealthy  black  eyes  under  the 
beetling  brows,  he  looked  long  and  tenderly  into  the 
death-sad  face  beside  him.  "It  would  take  so  little  to 
kill  you,  poor  Desdemona ;  and  if  we  were  both  dead  and 
in  the  same  grave — " 

"Even  that  can  not  be  now,"  she  said,  drearily. 

He  laughed — a  hard,  desperate  laugh.  "You  are  mis 
taken  in  that;  the  church  that  sanctions  your  marriage 
tie  says  only,  'Till  death  do  this  twain  part.'  You  would 
be  mine  after  that — and  for  all  eternity." 

She  looked  helplessly  into  his  handsome  face. 

"Be  merciful,  Roy,"  she  implored;  "do  not  make  my 
life  more  wretched  still." 

Turning  from  her  with  a  fierce  effort  at  self-control,  he 
said  huskily,  "Never  again,  poor  child,  never  again  shall 
you  complain  of  my  being  cruel  to  you,  for  whom  I 
would  gladly  lay  down  my  life.  Good  night,  love,  and 
good-bye." 

Mr.  Watson  was  but  too  glad  to  accede  to  his  wife's 
request  to  go  home.  Her  expensive  toilette  had  been  suf 
ficiently  admired.  He  knew  that  nearly  half  a  column 
would  be  devoted  to  descriptions  and  comments  upon 
their  party  in  the  morning's  paper,  and  he  could  sleep 
very  soundly  on  this  prospect. 

Major  Sutton  alone  called  the  next  morning.  The  per 
formance  had  been  such  a  success  that  Othello  would  be 
produced  again  within  the  week.  Captain  Carleton,  he 


194        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

said,  would  call  later  to  pay  his  devoirs.  But  he  did  not 
come;  only  Morton  came  a  day  later  with  a  verbal  mes 
sage  from  the  Captain,  and  a  large  bouquet  of  dark  blue 
violets  completely  hooded  in  a  white  paper  cover.  Gre- 
goria  delivered  the  violets  wrapped  up  as  they  were,  and 
then  descended  with  Morton  to  the  lower  regions;  and 
while  they  talked  over  the  days  of  "auld  lang  syne"  we 
may  be  sure  that  he  was  treated  to  the  best  and  choicest 
in  the  larder  of  the  house  of  Watson. 

When,  the  following  morning,  the  mistress  expressed 
her  desire  to  be  robed  in  her  street  dress,  the  maid  asked, 
without  a  single  objection,  at  what  hour  the  carriage  was 
to  be  ordered,  upon  which  she  was  told  that  her  lady  was 
going  out  for  a  walk  alone.  The  bonnet  which  had  not 
been  delivered  on  time,  was  now  brought  out — a  very 
pretty  creation  of  black  lace,  and  objectionable  to  Gre- 
goria  only  on  account  of  the  dark  purple  trimming.  "You 
stop  at  Meeses  Milliner,  mi  querida,"  she  urged,  "and 
mak  her  tak  off  the  ugly  purple  feather.  A  peenk  flower 
is  much  better." 

Eva  promised  obedience,  hastening  with  feverish  im 
patience  from  the  house,  and  stopping,  undecidedly,  on 
the  white  flags  in  front.  Then  with  sudden  determina 
tion,  she  walked  briskly  down  the  street,  hesitating  at 
the  next  corner  and  on  the  point  of  turning  back.  But 
she  reached  "Meeses  Milliner"  at  last,  told  her  to  re 
place  the  despised  feather  with  something  that  could  be 
pinned  on  without  removing  the  bonnet,  and  then  be 
came  so  absorbed  in  consulting  her  watch  that  she  did 
not  notice  what  the  milliner  submitted  for  her  approval 
before  pinning  it  on.  When  she  left  the  establishment, 
she  stopped  a  passing  street  car,  and  upon  alighting  from 


DESDEMONA  195 

it  she  found  herself  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  strange 
to  her,  and  with  a  different  life  flowing  through  it  from 
that  of  Kearny,  Market  or  Montgomery  streets.  Stores 
gaudy  with  bright  calicoes  and  cheap  finery,  and  glaring 
signs  of  second-hand  bargains  in  furniture  and  carpets. 
Butcher  wagons  and  grocery  deliveries  instead  of  coupes 
and  carriages;  and  unwashed  children  everywhere,  as 
though  they  thrived  in  this  district  of  wooden  sidewalks 
and  planked  streets. 

Passing  swiftly  along  for  a  short  distance,  she  turned 
into  a  narrow  but  more  cleanly  street,  and  walked  slowly 
as  the  grade  ascended.  Looking  to  the  right  and  left  she 
discovered  on  the  next  crossing  a  little  store,  vacant 
now,  which  had  evidently  been  a  florist  shop,  for  in  the 
show  window  there  still  stood  a  half  withered  bouquet 
intended  for  a  funeral  decoration;  and  just  around  the 
corner  from  this,  on  a  street  somewhat  wider,  there  was 
an  undertaking  establishment.  She  crossed  the  street; 
on  this  corner  there  was  a  grocery  store,  prosperous  look 
ing  and  well  kept;  and  she  left  it,  too,  behind  her,  and 
began  the  ascent  of  a  number  of  steps  in  the  sidewalk, 
for  the  street  was  so  steep  here  that  it  was  possible  only 
for  pedestrians  to  ascend.  Then  she  stood  where  this 
narrow  side  street  landed  on  a  broad,  terrace-like  street, 
a  quiet,  cleanly  place,  and  just  opposite  to  her  was  a  new 
three-story  building  with  a  broad  entrance  door  and 
signs  of  various  import  on  either  side  of  it.  There  was  a 
doctor's  office  in  the  building;  and  a  dancing-master  was 
to  be  found  here,  teachers  of  music  and  the  languages; 
while  a  dressmaker  or  two  had  rooms  in  different  parts 
of  the  house.  Then  the  landlord's  sign  announced  that 
finely  furnished  rooms  could  be  rented  for  offices  or 


196        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

housekeeping,  and  altogether  the  place  had  a  quiet  and 
respectable  air.  She  entered  the  open  door  and  began 
the  ascent  of  the  broad,  well-carpeted  stairs  till  she 
saw  a  door  opposite  her  on  the  first  landing.  It  was  a  door 
of  exceedingly  dark  wood,  with  an  elaborate  lock  and 
knob,  which  she  turned  and  entered  the  room.  There 
was  a  window  just  across  from  the  door  and  through  it 
she  could  see  swaying  trees  in  what  had  once  been  a 
fine  garden.  Between  her  and  the  window  stood  a  large, 
square  table,  with  a  polished  surface,  from  which  the 
cover  had  been  removed  and  hastily  thrown  over  the 
face  of  a  man  who  lay  on  a  couch  beside  the  table — 
dead.  The  couch  was  close  against  the  wall,  and  the 
table  was  in  front  of  it,  and  she  stood  by  the  table  with 
her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  still  form  stretched  upon 
the  couch,  her  hands  clasping  each  other  in  mute  agony. 

The  man  who  lay  there  was  tall,  his  shapely  limbs 
covered  by  garments  of  coarse  canvas  of  a  dark  brown 
color,  his  slender  feet  encased  in  finest  boots,  not  shoes. 
The  table  cover  was  thrown  over  his  head  and  breast, 
but  one  arm  was  visible,  and  the  waxen  hand  held  a  strip 
of  folded  paper  between  long,  well-shaped  fingers. 

Could  she  but  read  what  was  on  the  paper,  she 
thought ;  but  she  must  hasten  from  here  before  she  gave 
way  to  the  dizziness  coming  upon  her.  She  must  not 
faint,  not  faint,  she  said  to  herself;  not  faint,  she  re 
peated,  and  she  turned  and  fled  before  her  strength 
should  give  way.  The  door  closed  softly  behind  her, 
and  with  noiseless  steps  she  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 
Below,  in  the  shadow  of  the  staircase,  she  could  see  two 
figures  hiding,  and  she  heard  the  smothered  sobs  of  a 
woman,  while  a  man's  voice  whispered  brokenly: 


DESDEMONA  197 

"He  told  me  to  come  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning  but 
make  no  sign  till  eleven,  no  matter  what  I  might  see." 

Then  she  gained  the  street  and  walked  rapidly,  she 
did  not  know  in  what  direction.  She  missed  the  street 
she  had  come  on,  but  she  found  the  crowded  thorough 
fare  again  after  awhile;  and  while  she  stood  on  the  cor 
ner  waiting  for  the  approaching  horse-cars,  she  saw  Gre- 
goria  coming  from  an  opposite  direction.  Without  the 
least  surprise  she  addressed  her,  and  Gregoria,  unac 
countably  out  of  breath,  managed  to  say:  "Yes,  my 
lady,  I  go  walking,  too,"  before  she  lifted  her  mistress 
into  the  car.  Then  the  maid  turned  suddenly  on  her 
mistress : 

"Where  you  get  yellow  rose  on  your  bonnet,  my  lady?" 
she  asked,  sharply;  and  Eva  raised  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  there,"  she  said  absently. 

Once  at  her  home  Gregoria  quickly  removed  her  lady's 
walking  dress,  excluded  the  bright  sun,  and  left  the 
room.  But  she  had  placed  a  paper  in  her  hand  first,  the 
paper  which  Eva  had  seen  in  the  cold,  white  hand  she 
had  loved  so.  Unfolding  it,  she  read,  with  the  same  un 
natural  composure  she  had  felt  through  the  whole  of  this 
terrible  morning;  and  as  she  read,  the  walls  of  her  gilded 
cage  receded  farther  and  farther,  and  the  breeze  of  a  May 
morning  was  fanning  her  fevered  cheek,  and  she  sat 
lightly  in  the  saddle.  Her  horse  was  going  at  an  easy, 
even  pace  with  his  horse  and  he  was  chanting  in  low, 
melodious  cadences: 

Some  time,  perchance,  when  this  warm  heart  is  cold, 
These  trembling  fingers  drop  their  treasures  all 

And  growing  fairest  from  the  crumbling  mould, 
The  violets  o'er  me  wave  their  azure  pall. 


198        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

When  life  for  thee  has  lost  its  summer  glow, 

And  in  some  idle  hour  old  fancies  stir 
The  embers  of  a  flame  which  long  ago 

Love  kindled  for  his  willing  worshipper — 

If  then,  too  late  repenting,  you  shall  weave 
Flowers  of  remembrance  on  my  grave  to  cast, 

My  soul  the  offering  shall  with  joy  receive 
And  cancel  thence  the  shadows  of  the  past. 

And  when  he  had  ended  he  had  turned  to  kiss  away 
the  tears  from  her  cheeks.  "Poor  child!"  he  had  said, 
"how  it  would  pain  you  to  pain  any  one  you  loved." 

"I  would  rather  die,"  she  had  answered  him  in  all 
sincerity.  And  he  was  lying  dead  of  the  hurt  she  had 
given  him;  and  she  had  but  now  looked,  dry-eyed,  upon 
his  lifeless  form. 

Gregoria,  out  in  the  carpeted  hall,  walked  noiselessly 
back  and  forth.  She  had  driven  away  the  chamber  girl, 
whom  she  had  found  there  busy  sweeping  and  dusting, 
and  the  girl  in  her  hurry  had  left  her  broom. 

Had  her  master  already  heard  of  the  death — the  sui 
cide — Gregoria  wondered.  Would  he  come  storming 
home  to  confront  his  wife?  He  would  not  be  admitted, 
she  was  determined  on  that,  and  she  cast  a  longing  look 
at  the  broomstick  and  rather  wished  he  would  come. 

But  she  drew  forth  her  beads  and  began  to  pray: 
"Mother  of  Seven  Sorrows,  send  tears  to  the  hot  eyes 
of  the  poor  child,"  and  when  she  heard  her  sobs  at  last 
she  went  to  her,  gathered  her  up  from  the  floor  and  laid 
her  on  the  couch,  sitting  beside  her,  still  telling  her  beads 
in  a  half-loud  monotone. 

Early  the  next  morning  Gregoria  stood  by  the  bedside 
of  her  mistress. 

"Mi  querida,"  she  said  softly,  "Mr.  Watson  send  me  up 
to  tell  you  he  want  you  go  to  theater  with  him  tonight; 


DESDEMONA  199 

and  you  must  go."  There  was  no  answer,  and  repeat 
ing,  "You  must  go,  querida,"  she  left  the  room.  Return 
ing  to  her  master  she  delivered  his  wife's  message :  "She 
thanked  him  for  his  attention  and  would  be  delighted/' 

"And  what  play  they  play,  my  lady  would  like  to 
know." 

"  'Othello/  "  was  the  grim  reply. 


A  PICTURE  OF  THE  PLAINS 

It  may  read  like  a  very  prosaic  thing,  the  meeting  of 
two  wagon  trains — say,  a  military  outfit  and  a  freighter's 
train — on  the  western  prairies;  but  in  reality  there  is 
something  so  grand  and  majestic,  so  altogether  roman 
tic,  about  it,  that,  were  I  an  artist  I  should  want  no 
better  motif,  no  more  "taking"  subject,  for  my  brush 
and  pencil.  The  plains  have  often  been  likened  to  the 
ocean — vast,  solitary,  illimitable;  and  the  billows  that 
rise  and  roll  on  the  great  water-mass  are  aptly  repro 
duced  in  the  character  of  tfcese  prairies,  where  for  days, 
sometimes,  you  see  one  little,  gentle  undulation  after 
another  rise  before  you,  and  your  half  unconscious  spec 
ulation  is  always,  "Shall  I  see  anything  after  ascending 
this  solid  wave?"  Sometimes,  too,  quite  a  steep  little 
pitch  drops  down  from  a  bank  or  a  mesa;  but  when  you 
rise  to  the  height  of  it,  the  same  wide,  open  plain  is  again 
before  you.  I  cannot  think  of  a  more  impressive  scene 
than  I  witnessed,  years  ago,  on  these  plains,  some  ten 
days  out  from  Fort  Union,  New  Mexico,  on  the  way 
back  to  the  States.  Our  command  was  not  a  large  one, 
only  troops  enough  to  protect  a  train  of  from  thirty  to 
forty  army  wagons,  a  few  ambulances  and  carriages, 
beside  a  number  of  volunteer  soldiers,  mustered  out  of 
service,  and  availing  themselves  of  General  Alexander's 
permission  to  travel  under  cover  of  his  command. 

It  was  early  May.  The  brilliant  tints  of  sunrise  had 
not  yet  died  out  of  the  sky,  though  all  the  earth  was 
flooded  with  golden  light  and  warmth.  The  atmosphere 


A  PICTURE  OF  THE  PLAINS  201 

was  pure,  fresh,  and  perfectly  clear — as  it  seems  to  be 
only  on  these  plains,  and  just  in  this  region.  We  were 
early  risers,  by  force  of  circumstance;  and  when  we 
had  been  on  our  way  but  a  little  while,  we  saw  in  the 
distance  the  serpent-like  line  of  another  train  moving 
slowly  toward  us.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  our 
wagon-master,  having  urged  on  his  mule  for  a  tour  of  in 
spection,  reported  to  the  General  that  it  was  a  merchant 
train  for  Santa  Fe,  belonging  to  the  firm  of  Spiegelberg 
Brothers,  of  that  place.  There  were  about  twenty 
wagons,  besides  a  light  carriage  drawn  by  two  magnifi 
cent  horses,  and  the  private  menage  of  the  travelers, 
drawn,  like  our  conveyances,  by  patient  mules.  By  this 
time  the  plain  around  us  presented  a  lively  appearance. 
The  wagon-masters  and  assistants  of  the  two  trains 
made  flying  visits  to  each  other,  while  the  trains  moved 
slowly  along  at  the  usual  snail's  pace.  Some  of  the  mus- 
tered-out  soldiers  of  our  command  had  messages  and  let 
ters  to  send  back  to  Santa  Fe  by  the  merchant  train ;  and 
some  of  the  freighter's  employees  had  like  favors  to  ask 
of  the  teamsters  going  to  the  States  in  our  outfit.  Only 
the  respective  chiefs  of  the  two  expeditions  had  no  inter 
course  with  each  other. 

De  Long,  our  wagon-master,  had  informed  the  Gen 
eral  that  two  members  of  the  Speigelberg  firm  were  in 
the  carriage  preceding  their  freight  train,  and  we  were 
now  so  near  each  other  that  we  could  plainly  see  the 
occupants  of  the  elegant  vehicle.  But  the  military  ele 
ment  and  the  civil  do  not  affiliate  very  readily  on  the 
frontier,  though  there  is  seldom  a  lack  of  courtesy  or 
politeness  on  either  side.  Singularly  enough,  the  meet 
ing  of  the  trains  took  place  just  at  one  of  the  steep 


202         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

pitches  I  have  spoken  of.  The  General's  huge  ambu 
lance,  with  its  four  stout  mules,  commenced  the  descent 
just  as  the  airy  carriage  of  the  merchant  princes,  drawn 
by  the  high-bred  American  horses  began  to  climb  the 
little  rise.  And  never  have  I  seen  so  picturesque  a  scene 
as  that  presented  here  on  the  barren  plains.  As  the 
first  conveyances  met,  there  was  a  simultaneous  raising 
of  hats.  The  General  had  a  massive  figure,  with  eyes 
of  the  clearest  blue,  calm  and  serene  in  expression;  a 
long,  full  beard  of  tawny  yellow,  and  an  air,  so  simple, 
yet  so  stately,  that  even  in  the  soldier's  blouse  and  slouch 
hat  he  wore,  the  man  "made  to  command"  could  be 
recognized.  The  two  figures  on  the  other  side  had  some 
thing  of  the  airy  grace  which  pervaded  the  whole 
equipage.  Of  Jewish  descent,  with  fine-cut  features, 
dark  eyes,  and  richly  curling  hair — dressed  faultlessly, 
even  to  light-colored  kids  on  their  hands — they  formed 
the  most  decided  contrast  to  our  good  General.  All  three 
gentlemen  bowed  with  equal  courtesy,  though  varied 
elegance  of  manner.  On  they  passed,  not  a  moment's 
halt,  not  the  slightest  pause — one  ambulance  after  the 
other,  one  freight  team  after  the  next.  For  half  an  hour 
I  leaned  from  the  ambulance,  and  watched  the  white- 
roofed  army  wagons,  swaying  heavily  as  the  drivers 
held  back  their  six  mules  while  going  down  the  first 
sharp  pitch,  and  then  rattling  on  merrily  to  even  ground  ; 
the  clumsy  freight  wagons  creaking  and  groaning  under 
their  heavy  burden;  the  teamsters  talking  vigorously  to 
their  straining  animals  while  laboring  up  this  sharp  rise, 
and  cracking  their  whips  triumphantly  when  they  had 
made  it  at  last.  Then  came  the  mounted  troops,  and 
the  cooks  and  servants,  perched  on  almost  anything  they 


A  PICTURE  OF  THE  PLAINS  203 

could  find  in  the  baggage-wagons.  This  merry  rabble 
was  not  so  reserved  as  the  fine  folks  at  the  head  of  the 
caravan,  and  many  a  noisy  greeting  was  exchanged  as 
the  wagons  passed  each  other ;  many  a  laugh-provoking 
jest  startled  the  field-lark  from  her  lowly  nest,  and  sent 
her  skyward  with  her  joyous  song.  Far  in  the  distance 
loomed  the  Spanish  Peaks,  indistinct  and  shadowy,  as 
the  phantoms  which  we  chase  in  life  and  call  by  the 
names  we  love  the  best — Fame,  Wealth,  Greatness, 
Power — and  like  them  seeming  to  recede  farther  and 
farther  the  nearer  wre  think  to  approach,  till,  worn  and 
fainting,  wre  lie  down  to  die  in  the  desolate  road  through 
the  wilderness,  where  there  is  no  drop  of  water  to  cool 
our  lips,  no  pitying  tree  to  shelter  from  the  scorching 
sun. 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER 

"And   whin   the   ould   Mexican   died,   he   died    saying 

'Cueva.' " 
"An*  phwat  does  that  mane,  now?" 

Sergeant  Flaherty  turned  his  face  away,  with  an  ex 
pression  that  plainly  said:  "This  is  what  a  sergeant  of 
Troop  O,  teenth  Cavalry,  gets  for  lowering  him 
self  to  the  social  level  of  an  infantry  corporal."  Then  he 
relented  and  replied:  "Cueva  means  a  cave,  ye  block 
head.  Have  ye  been  six  months  in  New  Mexico  and  don't 
know  that?" 

Corporal  O'Rourke  was  not  thin-skinned  in  any  sense, 
and  he  questioned  again,  interestedly: 

"An*  did  the  fellow  want  to  be  buried  in  a  cave?" 

"Divil  do  I  know,"  the  sergeant  made  mollified  reply. 
"But  have  ye  niver  heard,"  he  submitted  mysteriously, 
"that  sometimes  there  do  be  money  and  treasures  and 
things  buried  in  caves?" 

At  this  moment  both  men  jumped  up  and  stood  with 
hands  at  salute,  for  Father  Heney,  coming  from  Officers1 
Row,  crossed  the  parade  ground  in  their  direction. 

"Now  there's  a  saintly  man  for  ye,"  remarked  the  ser 
geant  ;  and  the  corporal  added : 

"An1  they  do  say  as  how  the  major's  daughter  vows 
that  if  ever  she  marries  the  lieutenant  at  all,  it  will  be 
Father  Heney  to  perform  the  ceremony,  no  matter  where 
he  be." 

"He's  going  right  back  to  Los  Angeles  they  say;  and 
that  he  came  all  the  way  through  Arizona  to  help  the 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER  205 

major's  people  find  out  about  the  son.  They  always 
thought  old  Felipe,  the  thafe  of  the  world,  knew  where 
he  was." 

"An'  he  died  before  the  Father  came." 

"What  good  if  he  had  been  still  alive?  Unless  he,  or 
some  of  his  own,  or  of  the  other  gang,  had  made  an  open 
confession." 

"That's  so ;  that's  so,  in  a  minute,"  assented  the  honest 
corporal. 

In  another  frontier  post,  more  rock-bound,  more  deso 
late  even  than  Fort  Layard,  and  nearly  a  hundred  miles 
away,  the  lieutenant  spoken  of  by  the  two  "non-coms," 
First  Lieutenant  Oury  Kirk,  One  Hundred  and  Seventh 
Infantry,  U.  S.  A. — to  be  exact — was  at  that  very  mo 
ment  sitting  silent  and  alone,  his  duties  done,  his 
thoughts  traveling  across  the  dry,  sun-baked  stretches 
of  dreary  mesa  and  steep,  cleft-riven  rock  piles  that 
formed  "the  country"  between  this,  Fort  Howie,  and 
Fort  Layard.  He  himself  was  silent;  not  so  the  instru 
ment  he  held  in  his  arm,  a  Spanish  guitar  of  finest  work 
manship  and  finish,  and  the  chords  he  struck  were  of 
such  harmony,  proving  him  such  a  master  hand  on  the 
instrument,  that  it  was  evidently  not  meant  in  derision 
when  they  called  him  "Kirk  of  the  tuneful  guitar."  And 
if  any  further  excuse  for  playing  a  guitar  was  needed,  it 
might  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  young  lieutenant  was 
very  much  in  love  and  far  away  from  the  object  of  his 
adoration. 

Fort  Howie  was  only  a  one-company  post;  the  quar 
ters  but  rudely  constructed;  and  though  officers,  men 
and  horses  were  comfortably  housed,  this  did  not  mean 
much  in  a  climate  where  overpowering  heat  was  more 


206        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

to  be  guarded  against  than  the  light  cold;  for  Howie 
was  well  on  in  Arizona,  across  the  line  from  New  Mexico. 
In  fact,  it  stood  where  the  troops  were  as  often  called 
upon  to  protect  the  scattering  white  settlers  from  the 
depredations  committed  by  civilized  rogues  as  from  the 
attacks  of  the  savage  Indians. 

It  was,  therefore,  a  case  of  quien  sabe  as  to  what  was 

the  purpose  of  O  Troop  of  the teenth  Cavalry  from 

Fort  Layard,  that  rode  into  Fort  Howie  on  the  evening 
of  the  second  day  after  our  introduction  to  Lieutenant 
Kirk,  with  Major  Fothergill  at  the  head  of  the  company. 

Not  even  after  taps  had  sounded,  and  this  young  man 
was  alone  behind  closed  curtain — gray  army  blankets 
hung  over  casement  without  glass — with  the  younger 
lieutenant  who  had  come  with  the  troop,  was  he  en 
lightened  on  this  subject.  The  mystery  seemed  rather  to 
deepen. 

"Miss  Mildred  was  weeping  bitterly  when  she  bade  me 
good-by,"  Lieutenant  Russell  said  to  him,  "and  Mrs. 
Fothergill  hung  on  to  the  neck  of  the  major  dry-eyed  but 
pale  as  death.  'Bring  certainty/  I  heard  her  say,  what 
ever  that  might  mean." 

"About  me — I  wonder?"  asked  his  comrade.  "Surely 
Mildred  has  no  doubts  of  my  love  for  her  or  loyalty  to 
her,"  and  his  handsome  face  flushed  with  indignation. 

"Oh,  you  silly ,"  his  friend  consoled  him.  "She 

told  me  to  give  you  the  kindest  messages,  as  there  was 
no  time  to  write." 

"And  marching  under  sealed  orders,  are  you?"  mused 
Kirk. 

"So  at  least  the  major  wishes  it  considered,"  was  the 
discreet  reply. 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER  207 

The  major  at  this  time  was  alone  in  his  quarters,  his 
light  out,  in  compliance  with  rules  and  regulations, 
watching  in  the  darkness  the  land  around  as  far  as  he 
could  see  it.  His  face  was  pale  and  set,  as  his  wife's 
had  been  at  parting,  but  he  brushed  away  a  tear,  as  pain 
ful  memories  crowded  on  him.  He  was  thinking  of  his 
eldest  born,  the  brave,  the  gay,  the  reckless,  as  some 
had  called  him.  Reckless,  his  father  knew,  only  in  the 
sense  that  nothing  was  too  daring  for  him ;  no  scheme  so 
hazardous  but  that  he  would  undertake  it.  And  so  it  was 
intrusted  to  him  to  bring  to  Fort  Layard  one  year  ago 
a  part  of  the  funds  left  behind  by  the  paymaster,  in  safe 
keeping  at  the  post  from  which  he  started  out.  Gold 
and  paper,  a  considerable  sum,  in  a  small  unsightly  keg, 
iron-bound,  though,  and  not  an  easy  prey  to  would-be 
robbers.  Lieutenant  Fothergill  had  asked  but  his  own 
orderly  beside  the  driver  of  the  four-mule  ambulance,  in 
which  the  orderly  sat  beside  the  driver,  both  armed  to 
the  teeth,  the  little  keg  to  be  stored  under  the  back  seat, 
and  the  young  officer  was  to  ride  ahead  on  his  black 
horse,  on  the  return  of  the  party,  as  he  did  the  day  he 
left  Fort  Layard. 

When  the  small  outfit  had  not  returned  in  a  week's 
time  the  supposition  was  that  a  longer  and  safer  route 
had  been  chosen.  But  when,  in  the  course  of  the  next 
week,  one  of  the  ambulance  mules  crawled  lame  and  half- 
starved,  into  the  post,  with  pieces  of  torn  harness  on  its 
body,  the  whole  garrison  turned  out  in  search,  and  they 
found  the  harness-mate  to  the  mule,  dead  in  its  traces 
and  still  attached  to  the  ambulance,  which  lay  on  its 
side,  broken  and  shattered  in  a  gulch,  from  which  the 
mules  had  evidently  made  vain  efforts  to  drag  it,  And 


208        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

neither  the  keg  nor  its  contents  could  be  found  in  spite 
of  the  most  diligent  search. 

There  were  those  at  the  post  and  elsewhere,  who  were 
unkind  enough  to  shake  their  heads  wisely  and  point  out 
how  strange  it  was  that  the  two  wheelers  should  have 
been  left  in  their  harness  in  the  ambulance,  and  the  two 
leaders  gone.  The  lieutenant  had  his  own  horse ;  and  the 
two  men  who  went  with  him,  would  thus  have  had  a 
mule  apiece.  And  the  lieutenant  had  insisted  on  taking 
only  his  orderly  beside  the  driver,  in  spite  of  all  pro 
tests. 

It  was  queer,  they  said,  yes,  very  queer.  And  by  and 
by  these  stories  crept  around  the  garrison  and  came  to 
the  ears  of  the  sorrowing  father  and  grief-stricken 
mother,  and  the  proud-spirited  girl  who  was  the  sister  of 
the  missing  young  officer,  released  her  fiance,  Lieutenant 
Kirk,  and  said  that  never  would  she  become  any  man's 
bride  till  her  brother's  name  had  been  cleared  of  these 
foul,  unspoken  charges. 

With  break  of  day  the  O  Troop  men,  reinforced  by  a 
detachment  of  the  Fort  Howie  cavalry,  in  command  of 
Lieutenant  Kirk,  left  the  post  and  took  up  the  dim  traces 
of  what  was  supposed  to  be  a  wagon  road.  Travel  in 
wagon  or  ambulance  was  rare;  and  the  sand  that  was 
swept  up  from  the  desert  to  the  very  foot  of  the  moun 
tains  by  the  winds  of  the  plains,  soon  obliterated  all  signs 
of  wagon  or  horseback  travel. 

The  little  command  skirted  along  close  at  the  foot  of 
the  rocky  ledge  that  descended  from  the  plateau  on  which 
the  rude  fortifications  lay,  and  though  the  mountain  spur 
grew  monotonous,  as  all  things  do  in  Arizona,  by  its 
tedious  length,  there  was  variety  enough  in  its  character, 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER  209 

formation  and  coloring.  Portions  of  it  seemed  faintly 
tinted  marble,  in  this  early,  rosy  light  of  dawn  some  of 
the  rocks  looked  like  crumbling  rust,  though  millions 
might  have  been  quarried  and  coined  out  of  their  wealth. 
Sometimes  the  blue  and  the  dull  green  of  a  copper-bear 
ing  ledge  might  be  followed  for  half  a  mile  close  to  the 
ground,  and  again  a  mountain  of  obsidian  would  rise 
sheer  from  a  base  of  hard,  stubby,  unproductive  growth 
of  grass.  And  in  crevices  where  a  handful  of  sand  had 
been  moistened  by  the  winter's  rain,  the  palo  verde  and 
and  mesquite  had  made  a  stunted  growth,  higher  up  than 
the  cactus,  that  had  crept  up  from  the  desert  below  and 
lay  sprawling  here,  could  reach  its  thorny  arms. 

As  the  sun  grew  hotter  and  the  point  of  the  rock  ledge 
had  been  reached,  the  fantastic,  often  gigantic  forms  of 
the  cactus  could  be  seen  on  the  sand  waste  inimitably 
spread  before  the  eyes  of  the  soldiers  and  their  old  com 
mander  at  the  head  of  the  column.  His  aide,  Lieutenant 
Russell,  was  speculating  within  himself  whether  the 
"sealed  orders,"  mythical  as  he  thought  them,  would 
carry  them  across  the  plain,  for  only  one  day's  rations 
had  been  drawn,  and  no  extra  ammunition  issued. 

In  the  meantime  the  eagle  eye  of  the  commander 
seemed  to  penetrate  every  fold  and  cleft  in  the  ever- 
changing  face  of  the  mountain  as  they  slowly  wended 
their  way  along  the  foot  of  it;  and  though  both  soldier 
and  miner  learn  by  intuition  to  regard  these  hiding  places 
for  Apaches  with  keenest  interest,  there  was  something 
strained  in  the  expression  of  Major  Fothergill's  face,  and 
not  once  did  he  address  a  cheering  word  to  his  aide,  or 
notice  that  the  horses  showed  signs  of  being  fagged.  To 
be  sure,  a  halt  had  been  called  twice,  and  each  time  a 


210        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

small  squad  had  been  sent  in  search  of  "Indian  signs," 
right  in  among  the  clumps  of  palo  verde  and  mesquite  in 
some  narrow  chasm,  and  each  time  the  men  had  been 
questioned  in  regard  to  "solid  ground  under  foot,  or 
anything  peculiar  in  the  appearance  of  the  territory." 

And  now,  at  the  point  of  rocks  a  halt  was  made,  and 
the  major  beckoned  his  aide  and  Lieutenant  Kirk  to  his 
side. 

"We  will  turn  to  the  right  when  we  mount  again,"  he 
said,  "and  keep  close  to  the  base  of  these  rocks.  You  will 
report  at  once  any  peculiar  formation,  any  striking  fea 
ture  your  men  may  discover  in  this  ledge.  And  keep  a 
sharp  lookout,"  he  added  with  more  sternness  than 
seemed  necessary. 

That  they  were  not  really  supposed  or  expected  to  find 
"Indian  signs"  was  attested  by  the  fact  that  the  bugle  sig 
nalled  the  troop  to  remount.  As  they  moved  slowly  on, 
officers  and  men  could  not  have  pried  more  keenly  into 
every  cleft  and  cranny  of  these  rocks,  if  they  had  been 
miners  looking  for  the  lost  ledge  or  college  professors  on 
vacation  hunting  for  specimens  for  their  collection. 

Still  the  same  monotony  in  vegetation,  the  same  va 
riety  of  formation  obtained  here,  as  the  other  side  of  the 
rock  ledge  had  shown;  palo  verde  stunted  and  meager, 
scraggy  growth  of  mesquite  above,  sprawling,  tangled 
cactus  at  the  foot. 

Suddenly  the  horse  of  the  trooper  on  the  left,  in  the 
foremost  rank,  sprang  aside  with  a  sharp  start,  and  Lieu 
tenant  Russell  was  quick  to  see  the  cause.  A  hideous 
grinning  skull,  with  a  tuft  of  hair  still  clinging  to  it,  lay 
bleaching  on  the  sand,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
a  soldier  on  the  right  called  Sergeant  Flaherty's  atten- 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER  211 

tion  to  a  remnant  of  the  blue  sleeve  of  a  soldier's  jacket. 
As  the  command  halted,  Lieutenant  Kirk  saw  his  com 
mander  swaying  in  the  saddle,  big  beads  of  perspiration 
on  his  brow,  from  which  his  hat  had  fallen. 

Half  a  dozen  men  were  already  clambering  up  the  rise 
in  the  direction  from  which  a  trail  of  faded  rags  of  a  uni 
form  seemed  to  lead  outward.  Then  one  of  them  turned 
back  quickly  to  report  that  behind  the  brush-covered 
growth,  from  which  a  number  of  bleaching  bones  had 
evidently  been  dragged  by  the  coyotes,  an  opening  in  the 
rocks  could  be  seen.  Lieutenant  Kirk  had  only  stopped 
long  enough  to  see  that  their  commander,  who  stood 
trembling  by  the  side  of  his  horse,  had  recovered,  and  he 
returned  at  once  with  the  man.  Unheeding  sharp  thorns 
and  galling  prickers,  by  which  everything  in  Arizona 
growth  seems  armed,  Lieutenant  Kirk  forced  aside  the 
brush  that  shrouded  the  entrance  to  the  small  cavernous 
opening  in  a  pile  of  dark  rocks;  and  his  straining  eyes 
first  fell  upon  the  gleam  of  a  saber  and  then  traveled 
quickly  back  to  where  the  light  played  on  metal  spurs  in 
cavalry  boots,  rotting  from  the  rain  and  shrunken  by  the 
sun.  And  was  not  that  the  yellow  of  the  cavalry  soldier 
strap,  unbleached  in  the  dismal  shelter  of  the  cave? 

The  soldier  stood  aside  while  the  lieutenant  made  in 
vestigations,  but  when  he  heard  Sergeant  Flaherty  ex 
claim,  "the  major,"  he  turned  quickly  to  see  his  com 
mander  approaching,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Lieutenant 
Russell.  And  they  were  close  upon  him,  painful  as  it 
seemed  for  the  suddenly-aged  man  to  move.  One  step 
more,  and  they  had  made  the  ascent.  With  a  quick, 
solemn  gesture,  Lieutenant  Kirk  threw  up  a  warning 
hand  to  ward  off  nearer  approach. 


212         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"In  the  name  of  God,  Russell,"  he  cried  with  blanched 
lips  and  shaking  voice,  "in  the  name  of  God,  take  the 
major  away." 

And  the  soldiers  closed  in  around  the  open  cavern  to 
hide  its  grewsome  contents  from  the  eyes  of  their  stricken 
commander. 

After  a  brief  delay  Sergeant  Flaherty  led  his  men 
down  again,  and  then  Lieutenant  Kirk  reported  to  his 
commanding  officer: 

"Lieutenant  Frank  Fothergill  has  been  found,  sir,  mur 
dered,  evidently,  and  his  body  hidden  in  this  cave.  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  two  men  on  detail 
with  him  were  also  murdered,  and  the  remains  partly 
dragged  from  the  cave  by  the  coyotes.  But  I  can  iind  no 
trace  of  the  government  property  in  the  cave  where  I 
found  these  bodies  lying." 

The  major  had  made  an  effort  to  steady  himself 
against  his  faithful  horse,  and  as  he  removed  his  hat  and 
raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  his  trembling  lips  murmured  a 
faint  "Thank  God." 

"A  soldier's  honor  above  a  soldier's  life,"  seemed  the 
sentiment  in  every  trooper's  heart;  and  every  hat  was 
doffed,  every  head  was  bent,  and  one  young  soldier,  a 
recent  rookie,  evidently  forgot  discipline  to  the  extent  of 
bursting  out,  "Arrah  and  may  the  saints " 

But  a  look  from  Sergeant  Flaherty  caused  him  to  si 
lently  invoke  the  protection  of  the  saints  he  had  called  on 
all  too  loudly. 

Sergeant  Flaherty  now  took  charge,  while  the  two 
young  officers  saw  to  it  that  a  comfortable  resting  place 
was  made  for  their  commander,  and  he,  in  turn,  asked 
them  to  come  close  to  him.  Whether  he  explained  to 


THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER  213 

them  how  and  through  whom  he  received  finger  prints 
that  led  to  the  discovery  just  made,  and  the  clearing 
away  of  all  foul  imputations  against  his  son's  honor,  no 
one  can  tell,  but  the  War  Department  probably  knows  it. 
And  it  remained  always  a  matter  of  speculation  as  to 
what  particular  brand  of  outlaws  belonged  the  mis 
creants  who  murdered  the  three  soldiers.  And  whether 
the  old  Mexican  who  said  only  "cueva,"  because  he  had 
become  palsied,  belonged  to  that  or  some  rival  band,  was 
never  known  to  the  world  outside. 

The  man  who  had  looked  suddenly  so  old  when  the 
shock  of  discovery  first  struck  him,  grew  stronger  in  the 
telling  of  devoted,  unselfish  efforts  on  the  part  of  one 
who  stood  aloof  from  the  busy  world,  its  empty  honors 
and  its  fleeting  rewards,  yet  watched  with  never-slum 
bering  care  over  the  welfare  of  his  spritual  children,  of 
the  long,  laborious  journey  undertaken  in  spite  of  age 
and  infirmities,  so  that  no  living  creature  should  be 
wronged,  yet  the  dead  be  righted  in  their  graves.  Per 
haps  he  knew  that  the  dead  had  found  no  grave  as  yet, 
and  he  wanted  that  their  bones  should  rest  in  hallowed 
earth. 

For  the  present,  however,  these  victims  to  duty  were 
to  be  left  where  they  had  been  slain,  and  Lieutenant 
Kirk  signed  to  his  sergeant  how  to  place  the  remains 
in  the  three  rude  graves  hastily  dug.  When  all  was 
ready  the  major  was  led  to  the  grave  of  his  son,  by  which 
he  knelt  in  fervent  prayer,  and  as  he  knelt  and  humbly 
and  devoutly  struck  his  cross,  every  son  of  Erin  kneeling 
by  their  comrades'  graves,  blessed  that  old  man  and 
made  their  cross  as  humbly  and  devoutly  as  did  their 
commander.  The  others  bowed  reverently,  and  then  the 


JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

soldiers  piled  brush  on  the  graves  with  a  will  and 
weighted  it  down  with  pieces  of  rock  from  the  ledge,  to 
prevent  the  coyotes  from  uncovering  the  bones  of  those 
who  had  found  temporary  burial  there.  Then  taps  was 
sounded  by  the  bugler,  and  as  the  clear,  long-drawn 
notes  floated  softly  out  on  the  heat-quivering  air,  peace 
and  thankfulness  came  over  the  heart  of  the  father  who 
had  lost  a  son  and  the  lover  who  had  won  a  bride. 

For  we  may  be  sure  that  when  Lieutenant  Kirk  was 
granted  a  brief  leave  of  absence  after  a  long,  impatient 
wait  of  three  months'  time,  he  found  his  way  quickly  to 
Fort  Layard,  and  Mildred  no  longer  refused  to  become 
his  own  for  life.  Strange  to  say,  O'Rourke,  corporal  One 
Hundred  and  Fifth  Infantry,  proved  a  true  prophet,  if 
not  a  mind  reader,  for  the  major's  daughter  did  indeed 
make  the  condition  that  Father  Heney  should  bless  their 
union  and  solemnize  the  marriage. 

"But  Father  Heney  is  in  Los  Angeles,"  Lieutenant 
Kirk  protested,  "and  it  will  be  so  far  around  from  there 
back  to  New  York  and  Washington  for  our  wedding 
trip." 


PAY  DAY  AT  THE  MINE 

A  lady's  trunk  seemed  so  out  of  place,  in  this  wagon ; 
as  much  so  as  the  owner  of  the  trunk  herself. 

The  scraggy  Mexican  mules  had  an  American  driver ; 
and  he  had  taken  this  female  passenger  on  at  Girandara, 
together  with  several  kegs  and  sacks  which  had  come 
under  escort  from  a  flourishing  town  on  the  American 
side.  The  Guajaca  Mine  employed  all  the  Americans 
that  found  their  way  out  here ;  deserters  from  camp  and 
fort,  for  a  hundred  miles  around;  horsethieves,  broken- 
down  gamblers — anything  that  did  not  like  to  hear  the 
screech  of  the  American  Eagle,  but  loved  its  image  on 
American  coin. 

The  manager  of  the  mine,  the  Superintendent,  the  Mex 
ican  called  him,  was  an  American  himself,  who  had 
brought  with  him  a  young  wife,  timid,  shrinking,  home 
sick,  but  idolized  by  all  the  good-natured,  black-eyed 
Mexican  women  of  the  mining  community. 

A  number  of  them  were  with  her  now,  in  the  low  adobe 
house  with  rough  board  finishing,  with  glass  panes  in  the 
windows  of  this  one  room  only;  with  bare  walls,  and  a 
floor  on  which  were  spread  strips  of  the  home  woven 
hurga  for  carpet.  A  few  rawhide  chairs;  a  rough  table, 
and  a  rudely  constructed  bedstead,  on  which  rested,  or 
rather  tossed,  the  young  wife,  soon  to  be  a  mother.  She 
could  speak  but  a  few  words  of  Spanish,  and  she  un 
derstood  still  less  of  the  language ;  if  she  could  have  felt 
hatred  in  her  gentle  heart  at  all,  it  would  have  been  for 
everything  that  surounded  her  in  this  dry,  sun-baked, 


216        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

inhospitable  country,  with  the  exception  of  these  women, 
whose  love  she  felt,  but  whose  ways  and  language  she 
could  not  always  understand. 

Though  a  piece  of  blanket  had  been  hung  over  one  of 
the  windows,  to  keep  out  the  glaring  light  from  the  suf 
ferer  on  her  bed  of  pain,  she  could  read  ill-represed  ex 
citement  in  the  face  of  the  woman  entering  the  room  on 
tip-toe;  and  she  looked  up  with  eager  inquiry,  hoping, 
she  hardly  knew  for  what.  There  were  whisperings  and 
subdued  exclamations. 

"A  woman?"  she  asked. 

"Yes ;  a  woman ;  she  had  come  on  the  wagon  that  had 
brought  the  money  to  pay  the  long-due  wages  of  the 
miners." 

"Who  is  she,"  asked  the  sick  woman.  But  the  Mexi 
can  raised  her  shoulders  in  disdain.  "Quien  sabe?"  she 
said;  and  then  she  added  a  word  that  the  little  wife  did 
not  understand. 

As  the  patient  did  not  require  immediate  attention,  the 
last-comer  remained,  while  the  others,  with  ill-concealed 
curiosity,  slipped  out  of  the  room  one  by  one.  And  one 
by  one  they  came  back.  The  woman,  they  said,  was  gaily 
dressed ;  wore  jewels  and  fine  clothes. 

"Who  was  she?"  still  asked  the  sick  woman.  And  in 
reply  came  the  same  shrug  of  the  shoulder;  the  same 
word  added,  which  the  little  American  did  not  under 
stand.  But  the  little  episode  helped  to  distract  her,  in 
this  God-forgotten  country,  where  nothing  ever  happened 
save  a  knifing  among  the  Mexicans,  or  a  shooting  scrape 
among  the  American  miners. 

And  directly  it  struck  on  her  ear  that  this  stranger  had 


PAY  DAY  AT  THE  MINE  217 

light-colored  hair — yellow  hair.  Her  dull  eyes  bright 
ened. 

"Yellow  hair?"  she  asked,  "and  blue  eyes?" 

"No,  black  eyes;  yet  she  was  undoubtedly  Americana, 

but "  and  again  the  word  she  did  not  understand, 

spoken  lightly  and  contemptuously. 

"An  American?"  She  started  up,  wild  with  expecta 
tion.  "Bring  her  to  me — oh!  bring  her  to  me — now;  I 

must  see  her,  quick; — oh!  do  bring  her  to  me "  she 

pleaded. 

A  Mexican  woman  is  above  all  things  a  woman ;  warm 
hearted,  full  of  pity  for  her  sisters,  even  for  those  who 
have  swerved  from  the  straight  and  narrow  path.  The 
heart-broken  appeal  of  this  poor  child,  who  would  soon 
be  mother  to  another  child,  moved  them  to  tears;  they 
felt  no  resentment  at  the  yearning  expressed  for  the  sight 
of  one  of  her  own  nation ;  even  though  they  had  been  so 
devoted  and  loving  to  this  tender  little  exile. 

Silence  fell  on  those  remaining  in  the  room,  when  one 
of  the  women  had  been  sent  out  to  bring  the  stranger  in  ; 
and  then  Donna  Felipe,  the  oldest  among  them,  sug 
gested  that  possibly  the  Superintendent  might  be  averse 
to  his  wife  receiving  this  strange  woman  in  their  house. 
A  pitiful  look  of  apprehension  came  into  the  childish 
face. 

"Only  this  once,"  she  pleaded,  "only  this  once";  and  in 
a  sudden  spasm  of  pain,  wrung  her  hands  entreatingly. 

Then  Donna  Felipe  thoughtfully  hung  a  heavy  cloth 
over  the  lights  of  the  other  casement — Mexicans  in  that 
country  consider  windows  an  unnecessary  luxury,  any 
how — and  just  then  a  tall,  well-rounded  figure  stepped 


218        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

into  the  the  low  doorway,  an  air  of  defiance  somehow 
showing  in  the  looks  and  bearing  of  the  woman. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  the  eyes  of  the  child-wife 
were  blinded  with  tears.  But  the  strange  woman  who 
had  entered,  saw  only  the  white  face  and  the  hungrily- 
outstretched  arms  of  the  woman  in  travail;  and  hastily 
casting  aside  flaring  hat  and  gaudy  veil,  she  snatched  up 
the  reclining  figure  and  rested  the  drooping  head  against 
her  breast. 

"Oh,  sister,  sister!"  cried  the  helpless  mite  in  broken 
tones.  "Sister,  whom  God  has  sent  me  in  my  hour  of 
need — you  must  never,  never  leave  me ;  will  you  promise 
to  stay  with  me,  always?" 

"Always,  poor  child,  as  long  as  you  need  me."  The 
low  voice  was  in  singular  contrast  with  the  hard  black 
eyes — now  melting  in  hesitant  feeling, — and  the  lines 
which  passion  and  world-anger,  perhaps  sorrow,  had 
graven  on  the  bold,  proud  face. 

The  name  which  the  Mexican  women  had  spoken,  and 
which  the  little  innocent  had  not  understood,  was 
branded  on  the  woman's  forehead.  But  when  the  Mexi 
cans  watched  the  furtive  passes  she  made  over  cheeks 
and  lips  and  eyebrows  with  her  handkerchief,  they  soft 
ened  toward  her,  and  a  low-breathed  "misericordia"  came 
from  their  lips.  How  could  they  judge  what  misfortune 
had  driven  this  woman  to  her  fall?  A  handsome  woman 
she  must  have  been ;  a  better  and  softer  look  in  her  face 
already  since  some  of  the  paint  had  been  wiped  away; — 
perhaps  she  wished  in  this  solemn  moment  that  her 
shame  might  all  be  wiped  away  as  well. 

Her  hair,  heavy  and  fine  as  silk,  would  have  made  her 
a  noticeable  personage  in  any  assemblage;  but  it  was 


PAY  DAY  AT  THE  MINE  219 

evident  that  her  eyebrows  had  been  penciled  to  a  deeper 
black,  to  make  the  contrast  to  her  golden  hair  more  strik 
ing. 

The  little  wife  had  quickly  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  and 
when  she  woke,  in  sudden  agony,  the  woman,  who  sup 
ported  her,  asked  in  broken  Spanish,  that  the  husband 
should  be  sent  for.  She  knew  full  well  that  a  physician 
was  out  of  the  question,  and  would  hardly  be  needed 
where  the  elderly  Donna  Felipe  was  present. 

Comforting  the  patient  as  she  would  a  child,  she  still 
threw  impatient  glances  toward  the  door,  and  soon  a  stir 
among  the  women  announced  the  coming  of  the  super 
intendent.  A  man  past  his  first  youth,  whose  mien,  natu 
rally  haughty,  had  grown  stern  with  increasing  years, 
appeared  upon  the  threshold,  and — had  the  yellow  hair 
of  the  strange  woman  suddenly  turned  into  the  fabled 
serpent's,  she  could  not  have  looked  more  like  a  Medusa 
than  at  this  moment. 

Her  fingers  must  have  clinched  the  little  hand  she  held 
with  painful  grip;  there  was  a  moan  from  the  sufferer; 
but  the  man,  who  stood,  petrified,  just  inside  the  door, 
paid  no  heed.  Like  a  magnet,  the  strange  woman  seemed 
to  draw  him,  though  she  had  raised  a  warning,  repellant 
hand  at  his  approach. 

Womanlike,  she  had  regained  full  self-possession  first ; 
and  while  his  blanched  lips  formed  one  word — "Con- 
stantia" — she  pointed  with  commanding  gesture  to  the 
form  that  had  glided  from  her  arms  to  the  pillow. 

The  man  bent  over  his  wife,  but  she  shrank  from  him, 
calling  faintly  for  "Sister — sister!"  When  she  was 
quieted  again,  Donna  Felipe  stood  beside  the  bed  while 
the  strange  woman  turned  aside  a  moment  to  the  super- 


220         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

tendent.  None  heard  her,  or  understood  when  she  asked 
abruptly,  with  a  backward  motion  of  her  hand, 

"That  is  not  the  woman—?" 

"No !"  replied  the  man ;  then,  with  a  savage  oath,  "She 
robbed  me " 

"As  you  robbed  me" ;  put  in  the  woman  coolly.  "But 
she  robbed  you  of  your  money  only ;  while  you  took  all 
from  me — honor,  and  fortune  and  wifehood." 

"Have  you  no  home?"  asked  the  man. 

"None,  since  you  drove  me,  a  disgraced  woman,  from 
yours." 

"Your  father " 

"In  spite  of  your  plausible  story  he  offered  me  a  home, 
which  I  would  not  accept" ;  she  replied  with  curling  lip. 
"Rather  be  spurned  by  strangers  than  live  under  the  pity 
and  contempt  of  my  father's  second  wife.  And  now  let 
me  ask:  How  came  you  to  lay  your  iron  hand  on  this 
girl,  of  whom  you  have  made  a  plaything  to  beguile  the 
tedious  hours  of  your  enforced  solitude?  Bought  her  of 
some  poor  man,  who  had  smaller  children  to  support,  I'll 
be  bound.  Ah !  that  strikes  home ;  you  have  the  grace  to 
blush." 

"You !    What  are  you  that  you  should  dare " 

"I  am  only  what  you  made  me ;  you  have  my  soul  on 
your  conscience,  as  you  will  have  that  child's  life  on  your 
soul  should  she  die  this  night.  Now  leave  the  room; 
she  dreads  you  as  I  loathe  you." 

She  turned  away,  and  he  walked  with  unsteady  steps 
to  the  door,  a  man  suddenly  aged  as  with  years. 

The  grey  dawn  came  slowly  struggling  in;  the  dry, 
sharp  chill  of  the  night  battling  with  the  first  messen 
gers  of  the  dry,  sharp  heat  of  the  day. 


PAY  DAY  AT  THE  MINE  221 

The  hangings  had  been  removed  from  the  casements, 
and  Donna  Felipe  was  tenderly  spreading  a  coverlet  over 
the  motionless  form  lying  stretched  on  the  rude  couch. 

"Madre  Doloroso!"  she  prayed,  as  she  looked  on  the 
still,  white  face.  "May  she  straightly  enter  Paradise, 
as  do  those  who  lose  their  life  while  giving  life  to  a 
child." 

The  Mexican  women  were  on  their  knees ;  the  strange 
woman — no  longer  a  stranger  to  them  now — stood  among 
them,  with  bowed  head,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes ;  no  trace 
of  paint  or  color  on  her  saddened  face ;  yet  with  a  look, 
somehow,  almost  as  defiant  as  the  air  with  which  she  had 
entered  here  the  day  before.  She  turned  when  she  saw 
the  man  enter  the  room  hesitatingly,  though  looking  with 
longing  eyes  toward  the  bundle  Donna  Felipe  held  in  her 
arms.  He  had  given  but  one  shuddering  look  at  the  still 
form  covered  from  sight  on  the  bed. 

"She  gave  the  child  to  me !"  the  woman  spoke  fiercely ; 
a  lioness  defending  her  whelp  might  have  shown  set 
white  teeth  like  that. 

"You  have  no  home  to  give  him,"  said  the  man  with  a 
faint  attempt  at  defiance. 

"Is  that  a  taunt?"  Then  quickly  smothering  her  anger, 
she  said  quietly:  "My  father  will  gladly  give  a  home  to 
his  daughter,  repentant,  and  bringing  with  her  your 
child." 

The  stress  of  hatred  she  laid  on  the  pronoun  shook  him 
out  of  his  lethargy. 

"My  child  shall  stay  with  me,"  he  said  angrily. 
"Donna  Felipe  will  tend  him  and  take  care  of  him." 

"Your  child  shall  go  with  me";  she  replied  determin- 


222         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

edly.  "Donna  Felipe,  see  that  all  is  ready  for  our  jour 
ney  in  this  hour." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  touch  the  child.  "Stop !" 
she  commanded.  "Do  not  touch  the  child ;  she  gave  him 
to  me!" 

"Shall  I  never  see  my  own  child?"  The  spirit  of  the 
once  proud,  reckless  man  was  broken.  "How  shall  I 
know  him,  where  shall  I  find  him?" 

"He  will  bear  your  name,"  she  said,  "and  you  will  find 
him  always  at  my  father's  home."  She  took  the  little 
bundle  from  the  Mexican's  arms. 

"Pray  attend  me  to  the  carrete,  Donna  Felipe,"  she  said 
as  she  swept  from  the  room. 

He  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  her  arm,  which  she  shook 
off  as  if  it  were  some  loathsome  reptile.  "Will  you  for 
give  me " 

But  the  eyes  she  turned  on  him  so  flashed  and  burned 
with  passion  that  involuntarily  he  stretched  a  protecting 
hand  toward  the  child.  In  a  moment  her  flaming  anger 
was  under  control. 

"Yes,"  she  said  with  cold  disdain,  "I  forgive  you — for 
the  sake  of  her  child,"  she  added  softly,  as  she  drew  close 
her  veil,  and  passed  out  amid  the  murmured  benedictions 
of  the  Mexican  women. 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM 

There  were  six  passengers  on  the  stage  when  it  left 
the  Salinas  that  morning,  five  men  and  a  woman.  There 
was  one  more  passenger,  a  fascinating  "drummer,"  but 
he  had  taken  the  outside  seat  beside  the  driver  when 
it  was  found  that  the  lady  did  not  desire  this  elevated  po 
sition — for  California  was  still  young  enough  and  gallant 
enough  to  stand  back  and  give  the  first  choice  to  any 
representative  of  the  fair  sex,  be  she  fair  or  not.  For, 
"a  woman  was  a  woman"  even  at  this  period ;  and  each 
of  the  five  men,  as  they  climbed  into  the  stage  after  the 
lady  had  been  helped  in  by  the  landlord  of  the  hotel,  who 
was  also  stage  agent,  had  asked  that  individual  in  dumb 
show  who  this  one  might  be.  And  each,  upon  perceiving 
by  the  blank  look  and  shoulder  shrug,  that  the  hotel 
keeper  was  no  wiser  than  himself  on  this  point,  turned  a 
discreetly  scrutinizing  glance  on  the  female  passenger 
as  soon  as  he  and  his  overcoat  and  valise  had  been  prop 
erly  placed  and  adjusted. 

The  lady  herself  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  the 
stealthy  attention  lavished  upon  her.  The  black  veil  that 
covered  her  hat  and  face  was  neither  dense  nor  heavy,  and 
she  removed  it  in  a  little  while  with  the  evident  desire  of 
enjoying  the  outlook  upon  the  Gabilan  Range,  bathed 
now  in  the  early  sunlight,  which  lay  upon  it  in  soft, 
dreamy  tints  of  pink  and  rose,  a  golden  haze  weaving 
enchantment  about  the  peaks  and  crags  of  the  distant 
mountain. 

It  was  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  this  view,  proba- 


224         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

bly,  that  she  had  elected  to  dispose  herself  in  a  corner  on 
the  front  seat  of  the  stage,  her  back  to  the  horses,  instead 
of  occupying  the  back  seat  as  the  choicest.  The  middle 
seat,  swaying  with  every  movement  of  the  stage,  was 
occupied  solely  by  the  man  who  owned  the  largest  share 
of  the  country  surrounding — lands  held  formerly  by 
haughty  Don  and  proud  Senor,  and  which  had  passed 
into  the  keeping  of  the  man  who  had  acquired  them — 
anyhow,  and  taken  possession  with  the  same  air  of  bon- 
hommie  and  the  brusque  show  of  good  nature  which 
characterized  him  in  his  dealings  with  all  men.  He  had 
come  to  California  in  the  days  that  followed  the  age 
pastoral,  and  which  might  justly  be  called  the  period 
of  spoliation,  when  the  watchword  and  the  battlecry  of 
the  incoming  American  had  been,  "Get  land;  get  land 
honestly  if  you  can — but  get  land."  He  was  supposed  to 
be  a  little  lame  in  one  leg;  so  everybody  was  willing  to 
give  him  the  best  seat  and  stand  back  for  his  comfort 
generally;  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  little  hard  of  hearing; 
so  everybody  leaned  forward  to  make  it  convenient  for 
him  to  catch  their  meaning. 

The  back  seat  was  occupied  by  two  men  alone— the 
wealthiest  merchant  in  town  and  the  big  Dutch  butcher, 
Meyer.  The  theory  was,  in  stage  days,  that  the  more 
heavily  the  stage  was  loaded  the  more  lightly  it  swung, 
and  so  there  were  on  the  front  seat  two  passengers  be 
sides  the  lady.  All  these  five  men,  after  one  keen  glance 
at  their  fair  fellow-traveler,  had  looked  from  one  to  an 
other  and  finally  concluded  that  she  belonged  to  neither 
of  them.  After  settling  this,  came  the  question,  "Who 
is  she  then?"  The  wealthy  dry  goods  man,  with  a  red- 
haired  wife  and  nine  children  at  home,  assigned  her,  for 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  225 

one  moment,  to  the  drummer  on  top  of  the  stage;  but 
concluded,  the  next,  that  her  quiet,  sober  dress  stamped 
her  as  not  that  kind  of  a  woman. 

The  man  in  the  floppy  straw  hat  and  rather  unkempt 
hair  of  indefinite  color,  sitting  on  the  seat  with  the  lady, 
raised  a  pair  of  gentle  brown  eyes  to  her  face  for  a  mo 
ment  and  then  fell  to  drawing  his  fingers  through  whis 
kers  as  long  and  unkempt  as  his  hair.  Something  about 
him  spoke  of  fallen  fortunes;  and  a  dormant  element  of 
combativeness  that  might  be  roused  into  activity  at  any 
unexpected  moment,  could  be  read  in  the  lines  of  his 
sallow  face. 

Next  to  him  sat  a  stranger  from  the  city,  no  doubt,  a 
young  man,  neatly  dressed,  with  natty  hat,  and  kid 
gloves  peeping  out  of  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  But 
this  young  man  was  a  newspaper  writer,  reporter  and 
journalist,  and  he  knew  that  the  gloves  worn  in  an  ill- 
judged  and  conspicuous  manner  would  very  likely  prove 
a  bar  to  his  gaining  the  confidence  of  his  fellow-travelers, 
and  thus  cut  him  off  from  knowledge  and  information 
which  he  was  anxious  to  gather  as  material  to  "work 
up."  For  your  real  rancher  looks  with  disfavor  and  mis 
trust  upon  anyone  wearing  gloves — as  upon  one  who 
might  "smile  and  smile  and  be  a  villain  still." 

As  the  back  of  the  gentleman  on  the  swinging  seat  in 
the  middle  was  turned  toward  him,  it  was  only  natural 
that  if  he  entered  into  conversation  at  all,  it  would  be 
with  the  man  on  the  same  seat  with  him — the  Southern 
man  in  the  big  straw  hat. 

They  had  been  exchanging  remarks  on  the  weather, 
the  crops  and  the  country,  in  a  desultory,  haphazard 
way,  the  man  of  Southern  looks  being  of  the  country, 


226         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

spoke  for  the  country,  though  he  owned  but  a  small  slice 
of  it,  compared  to  the  holdings  of  the  man  occupying 
the  seat  in  front  of  them.  The  roads  were  rough,  for  the 
heavy  black  adobe  soil  but  recently  dry  after  winter  rains, 
had  not  yet  been  ground  into  powder  by  the  heavy, 
grain-laden  wagons;  with  their  eight,  ten  and  sixteen- 
horse  teams,  that  would  traverse  the  country  a  little  later 
in  the  season. 

The  stage  lumbered  slowly  along,  and  he  of  the  straw 
hat  called  the  attention  of  the  young  man  with  the  re 
porter's  note-book  to  points  of  interest  near  and  far.  In 
the  distant  mountain  chain  it  was  the  peak  where  Fre 
mont  and  his  men  had  been  encamped ;  nearer  by  it  was 
the  spot  where  an  incredible  number  of  bushels  of  wheat 
had  been  harvested  to  the  acre;  and  when  they  ap 
proached  the  lonesome-looking  enclosure  with  a  strag 
gling  eucalyptus  tree  here  and  there,  rustling  disconso 
lately  in  the  wind,  above  a  number  of  scattered  graves,  it 
was  not  difficult  to  guess  that  this  was  the  last  resting 
place  of  the  Catholics  of  Salinas  valley,  for  a  plain  black 
cross  rose  above  the  arched  gateway.  Drawn  up  by  the 
side  of  the  road  near  this  gate  was  a  wagon  with  two 
horses,  the  front  seat  alone  being  occupied.  The  occu 
pant  could  not  have  been  more  than  twenty;  and  had 
not  his  every  feature  stamped  him  a  Spaniard,  his  very 
attitude — stretched  indolently  but  not  ungracefully  on 
the  seat,  and  the  abandon  with  which  he  gave  himself 
up  to  the  making  of  music  on  his  harmonica,  would  have 
proclaimed  him  as  one  of  this  race  California  born. 

He  was  no  mean  performer  on  this  unjustly  despised 
instrument;  he  drew  tones  from  it  as  sad  as  earth,  as 
sweet  as  heaven — tones  that  stirred  the  spirit  with  their 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  227 

passion  and  made  the  tear  start  with  their  pathos.  Every 
sound  was  hushed  in  the  stage,  even  the  horses  seemed 
to  step  softly  for  fear  of  losing  a  single  note,  and  the 
lady  in  the  corner  was  seen  to  draw  out  her  handker 
chief,  flutter  the  dainty  white  flag  a  moment,  and  then 
press  it  quickly  to  her  eyes. 

"What  touching  music,"  said  the  newspaper  man, 
breaking  the  silence  as  they  passed. 

"Heart-rending,"  affirmed  the  man  from  the  South; 
and  no  one  smiled,  for  the  sentiment  was  correct,  though 
the  syllabication  was  somewhat  extravagant. 

Away  in  the  far  corner  of  the  graveyard  an  old  man 
could  be  seen,  kneeling,  probably  at  the  grave  of  someone 
loved  and  lost;  and  Meyer,  the  big  butcher,  pointed  out 
the  lonely  figure  to  Colonel  Dare,  the  big  landowner. 

"Old  Higuera,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "he  pray  by  the 
grave  of  his  son,  Vasquez." 

"Killed  with  Vasquez,  you  mean — "  he  was  corrected. 

"Yes,  yes;  he  vas  by  Vasquez,  dey  say,"  he  insisted. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  the  dry  goods  man  commented, 
"the  body  was  brought  here  some  time  after  the  old  man 
and  his  son  came  here  to  live.  This  was  an  older  son 
that  died." 

"Dug  him  up  somewhere  else  and  planted  him  here — 
eh?"  asked  the  Colonel  facetiously;  and  the  other  con 
tinued  : 

"The  old  man  had  a  female  of  some  kind  in  the  wagon 
with  him  when  I  saw  him  in  town  early  this  morning." 

Colonel  Dare  could  not  have  been  so  very  hard  of  hear 
ing  after  all,  for  this  was  spoken  in  an  undertone,  but  he 
instantly  asked — "Eh,  what?  A  woman?  What  did  she 


228        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

look  like— hey?  Didn't  see?  That's  like  you;  if  it  had 
been  me  now — — " 

The  dry  goods  man,  as  the  husband  of  one  wife  and 
father  of  nine  red-headed  children,  had  evidently  ad 
monished  his  friend  to  be  on  his  good  behavior,  for  the 
Colonel  checked  his  laughter  and  cast  one  careless  look 
in  the  direction  of  the  lady  passenger.  But  she  was 
neither  sufficiently  buxom  of  form  nor  rosy  of  face  to 
hold  his  attention. 

"Higuera,"  he  continued,  musingly,  "the  family  cer 
tainly  does  not  belong  anywhere  in  this  part  of  Califor 
nia,  I  am  sure  they  never  owned  any  land  around  here." 

Butcher  Meyer  exploded  with  laughter.  "No,  no, 
Colonel,  if  dey  own  land,  den  you  know  dem  sure — ha — 
ha — ho — and  deir  land,  too." 

"Well,  Dutchman,  and  if  they  had  owned  any  fat  cat 
tle,  then  you  would  have  known  them  and  their  cattle, 
too,"  and  the  good-natured  Colonel  thought  it  was  his 
turn  to  laugh. 

"But  I  bays  for  mine  caddies,"  protested  the  Dutch 
man. 

"But  who  said  I  didn't  'bay  for  mine  land,' "  the  face 
tious  Colonel  asked  mockingly,  and  he  himself  intoned 
the  laugh  that  went  all  around  the  stage. 

When  the  merriment  had  subsided,  Butcher  Meyer, 
with  an  air  of  mystery  and  importance,  hinted  at  some 
thing  he  had  heard  in  regard  to  the  name  Higuera  not 
being  genuine,  to  which  the  Colonel  lightly  responded 
that  in  crossing  the  plains  to  come  to  California  names 
did  have  a  tendency  to  get  slightly  mixed,  and  after  thus 
giving  expression  to  the  liberal  views  he  held  on  the 
subject  of  masquerading  under  different  names,  the 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  229 

Colonel  dropped  the  subject.  But  to  the  ears  of  the  man 
from  papertown  "Vasquez"  had  a  most  alluring  sound; 
his  most  cherished  ambition  had  been  to  compose  a  trag 
edy  modeled  on  the  plan  of  Schiller's  "Robbers,"  and  the 
name  of  the  bandit  thus  casually  mentioned  opened  so 
brilliant  a  vista  to  his  sanguine  view  that  he  was  fairly 
dazzled  with  the  vast  possibilities  in  store  for  him.  He 
turned  trustfully  to  the  man  in  the  straw  hat. 

"You  know  something  of  the  crimes  and  depredations 
of  this  noted  robber  chief?"  he  asked  with  an  air  of  gen 
eral  interest  only. 

To  his  surprise  it  was  Colonel  Dare  who  replied  in  his 
roughly  bantering,  but  wholly  good-humored  way, 
"Don't  for  pity's  sake  start  Finnerty  on  that  subject; 
might  just  as  well  set  him  to  talking  of  what  he  had  and 
what  he  was  'before  the  wah.'  " 

Finnerty  laughed  with  the  rest,  though  there  was  a 
shade  of  regret  in  his  mild  brown  eyes. 

"But,  Colonel,"  the  Dutchman  broke  in,  "me  and  Mr. 
Finnerty  bote  has  reason  to  complain  of  dat  rascal,  Vas 
quez.  He  steal  Mr.  Finnerty's  horses  and  almost  break 
him  up,  and  he  steals  mine  fat  caddies  and  almost  break 
me  up." 

"Didn't  'bay  for  mine  caddie' — eh?"  asked  the  witty 
Colonel,  and  a  perfect  shout  of  laughter  arose  from  the 
inside  of  the  stage,  so  that  the  drummer  on  top  made  up 
his  mind  to  get  inside  the  very  next  time  the  horses  were 
changed  or  watered.  The  Colonel,  however,  continued 
more  soberly: 

"Well,  Dutchman,  I  think  Finnerty  had  a  good  deal 
more  reason  to  'complain'  than  you.  They  did  worry 
him  pretty  well.  That  span  of  sorrel  Patchens  would 


230        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

have   brought   $10,000   anywhere,   and   I'd   have   given 
$5000  for  the  black  Morgan  to  match  mine." 

"And  Vasquez  took  them  from  you?  How?  Was 
there  an  open  battle  with  him  ?  Do  tell  me,  please."  The 
intending  author  of  the  tragedy  could  no  longer  bridle 
his  thirst  for  knowledge,  but  the  older  Californians 
smiled  unmovedly  at  the  inquisitive  tenderfoot,  little 
dreaming  how  he  meant  to  make  California  (and  him 
self)  famous  through  her  defunct  horsethief  and  bandit. 

"Well,  you  see — it  was  really  not  Vasquez   himself 

who  took  the  stock  from  me "  the  scribe's  face  fell. 

"It  was  a  young  man  who  had  joined  the  band  that  took 
them." 

"One  of  Vasquez's  lieutenants,  so  to  speak,"  the  aspir 
ing  dramatist  interrupted,  with  hope  revived,  and  the 
other  continued: 

"I  was  located  some  sixty  miles  south  of  this  at  this 
time,  had  quite  a  range  for  my  stock  and  had  a  Mexican 
for  a  vaquero." 

"The  more  fool  you,"  the  Colonel  put  in,  sententiously, 
but  neither  Mr.  Finnerty  nor  any  of  the  others  saw  any 
thing  offensive  in  the  remark,  and  the  Southerner  began 
again :  "As  long  as  they  let  my  stock  alone  I  said  noth 
ing,  but  when  they  took  General  Lee — that  is" — hastily 
— "my  fine  black  Morgan,  I  corralled  my  vaquero  one 
morning,  shook  him  till  his  teeth  rattled,  and  he  con 
fessed.  He  told  me  such  a  pitiful  story,  however,  that  I 
did  not  try  to  get  the  stallion  back ;  I  knew  he  would  be 
well  taken  care  of  by  the  man  that  got  him." 

"Well  done  for  Finnerty,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel, 
laughing  angrily.  "If  we  did  not  know  him  we  might 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  231 

suspect  him  of  belonging  to  the  gang  and  having  fur 
nished  horses  for  them." 

"When  they  came  after  my  matched  sorrels  I  got  kind 
o'  mad,"  continued  Finnerty,  unheeding,  "but  it  was  so 
near  the  end  then  that  I  did  not  get  time  to  do  anything 
about  it." 

"But  the  story — what  was  the  story  your  vaquero 
told  you?" 

"Why — you — see — it  was  about  the  young  man  that 
took  the  horses." 

"The  young  horsethief,  you  mean,  Finnerty,"  the 
Colonel  again  interrupted. 

"Well — he  was  the  son  of  a  man  who  had  been  robbed 
of  all  his  lands  by  the  Americans — Arano  was  his  name, 
and  he  had  owned  thousands  upon  thousands  of  acres 
near  Los  Angeles.  But  a  smart  Yankee  had  come  along 
and  taken  possession  of  the  land  and  the  court  had  con 
firmed  the  title,  and  the  poor  old  man  was  turned  adrift 
with  not  a  dollar  between  himself  and  starvation. 

"You  know  how  those  things  go;  the  Spaniards  are 
ignorant  of  our  laws  and  some  of  them  have  not  an  acre 
of  land  left,  when  they  really  never  had  the  intention 
of  selling  and  never  did  sell  to  the  men  that  now  hold  the 
land."  With  a  sudden  jerk  the  narrator  checked  himself 
and  threw  a  deprecating  look  toward  Colonel  Dare,  but 
this  little  gentleman  was  just  in  the  act  of  placing  the 
foot  supposed  to  be  a  little  lame  in  a  more  comfortable 
position. 

"Don't  stop,  Finnerty,"  he  said  with  the  most 
audacious  good  nature,  "you're  not  hitting  me  hard  now ; 
I  never  lived  in  Los  Angeles,  you  know.  Go  right  on." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel,"  said  the  man  from  the  South 


232        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

in  all  sincerity,  and  continued:  "So  it  stands  to  reason 
that  these  old  Spanish  people  have  no  great  love  for  us 
Americans.  This  case,  however,  was  a  particularly  ag 
gravating  one.  Young  Arano  had  just  been  married  to 
a  young  lady,  handsome,  accomplished,  raised  in  afflu 
ence,  to  whom,  supposing  himself  heir  to  his  father's 
wealth,  he  had  pictured  a  life  of  luxury  and  en 
joyment  at  his  side.  You  can  imagine  what  his  feelings 
were  when  he  had  not  even  the  plainest  home  to  take 
her  to.  She  was  a  descendant  of  the  Oliveras,  they  say, 
her  mother  Spanish,  her  father  American." 

"Englishman,  Finnerty,"  corrected  the  Colonel.  "Us 
Americans  may  have  taken  their  land  from  the  Span 
iards,  but  the  English  took  their  women/' 

"And  she  refused  to  go  back  home  and  abandon  her 
young  husband.  He,  the  poor,  foolish  young  fellow,  un 
dertook  to  drive  the  invaders  (as  he  considered  them) 
from  his  father's  lands  at  the  point  of  a  pistol,  and — 
well,  he  was  made  to  suffer  for  his  rash  courage.  They 
are  a  downtrodden  race — these  Spaniards,  and  the  people 
who  conquered  them  have  despoiled  them  of  their  pos 
sessions."  There  was  a  dangerous  ring  to  the  patient 
man's  voice,  and  a  sudden  flash  in  the  kind  brown  eyes, 
and  the  would-be  dramatist,  intent  as  he  was  on  gather 
ing  material,  seemed  all  at  once  to  hear  the  distant  echo 
of  a  chorus  of  lugubrious  negro  voices : 

"—My  Old  Kentucky  Home — good-night!" 

" — And  I  have  the  deepest  pity  for  them.  Now,  when 
the  poor  young  fellow  made  his  escape  from  the  jail 
where  they  had  put  him  where  should  he  go — what 
should  he  do  but  join  Vasquez?  His  young  and  beau 
tiful  wife — my  vaquero  said  she  was  beautiful." 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  233 

"Your  vaquero  was  the  brudder  of  Mr.  Arano,  I  guess." 
The  red-faced  butcher  thought  it  was  his  turn  now  to 
quiz  Mr.  Finnerty.  But  the  Southerner  took  the  world 
and  himself  seriously  and  answered: 

"No,  for  he  said  the  brother  was  much  younger  than 
Francis  Arano."  Then  in  answer  to  a  beseeching  look 
from  the  scribe,  he  continued  where  he  had  left  off.  "The 
wife  remained  with  the  poor,  stricken  father,  and  never 
saw  her  husband  again.  Young  Arano  had  come  to  the 
neighborhood  where  I  was  living  south  of  here  at  the 
time  and  he  took  my  black  Morgan  to  make  his  way 
back  to  see  his  wife  before  leaving  the  country;  for  he 
intended  going  with  Vasquez  to  Mexico.  I  could  not  be 
angry  with  the  poor  young  fellow  for  taking  the  horse." 

"Finnerty,  did  you  ever  steal  a  horse  yourself?"  broke 
in  the  irrepressible  Colonel,  and  Finnerty,  meditatively 
combing  his  long  beard  with  his  fingers,  admitted: 

"Well,  Colonel,  I  did  borrow  a  horse  from  my  neighbor 
in  order  to  get  away  from  you'uns  during  the  wah." 

"Ever  return  the  horse  or  pay  for  it?" 

"You'uns  never  gave  me  a  chance,"  was  the  ingenuous 
reply. 

"I  thought  it  was  strange  you  had  such  a  fellow  feel 
ing  for  a  horsethief,"  the  Colonel  remarked ;  and  Finner 
ty  laughed  with  the  rest  till  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

The  stage  had  long  since  accelerated  its  speed,  for  the 
mountain  road  it  was  beginning  to  traverse  was  not  ham 
pered  by  the  clods  of  black  adobe  soil  for  which  the 
Salinas  plains  are  famous  or  notorious — as  the  case  may 
be.  The  views  were  becoming  more  grand  as  the  Pass 
was  approached,  yet  there  were  no  glimpses  yet  to  be  had 
of  the  old  town  of  San  Juan  with  its  older  Mission,  in  the 


234        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

valley  below,  where  the  stage  as  well  as  the  horses  were 
to  be  changed.  The  day  was  growing  warmer,  the  big 
butcher,  Meyer,  had  long  since  removed  his  coat,  and 
now  sat  fanning  his  face,  big  and  red,  and  still  quivering 
with  rills  of  laughter. 

The  Colonel  seemed  to  have  settled  down  to  a  nap  in 
good  earnest  at  last,  though  a  glancing  look  had  swept 
the  face  of  the  woman  in  her  corner  of  the  stage  before 
he  had  closed  his  eyes.  "A  stone  image" — he  dubbed  her 
in  his  mind,  for  she  had  not  even  smiled  at  his  witticisms. 
The  journalist,  however,  had  seen  how  the  clear  gray 
eyes,  almond  shaped,  black  fringed,  beneath  delicately- 
arched  black  brows,  had  kindled  when  he  himself  had 
been  so  moved  by  the  pathetic  outburst  of  the  South 
erner;  and  in  the  drama  which  he  intended  to  construct 
on  the  plan  of  Schiller's  "Robbers"  out  of  the  Vasquez 
material  he  had  designed  her  as  the  Amelia  of  his  play. 
"For,"  he  argued,  "an  Amelia  must  be  sympathetic  above 
all  things." 

The  lady's  veil  had  long  since  dropped  and  he  could 
see  the  dark,  full  hair,  wavy  at  the  temples — not  curly. 
"A  bandit  bride  doesn't  want  curly  hair,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "just  this  wave  in  the  hair  is  the  proper  thing." 
Then  he  fell  to  speculating  what  the  lady's  name  might 
be ;  he  wanted  to  give  his  heroine  her  name,  too,  as  well 
as  her  exterior  attributes  and  mental  qualities.  In  short, 
his  drama  was  making  huge  strides,  and  he  felt  it  imper 
ative  to  urge  Finnerty  to  a  conclusion  while  the  aggra 
vating  Colonel  slept. 

"But  the  Colonel  mentioned  two  more  horses  you  lost 
through  the  Vasquez  band,"  he  persisted  in  his  blandest, 
most  attentive  manner. 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  235 

"Not  only  by  de  same  band,  but  by  the  same  young 
fellow,"  put  in  the  big  butcher.  He  had  never  forgotten 
or  forgiven  the  five  hundred  head  of  "fat  caddies"  that 
the  gang  had  relieved  him  of. 

"Well — yes;  my  Patchen  sorrels.  You  see,  young 
Arano  had  a  close  call;  so  much  money  was  to  be  had 
for  the  capture  or  the  death  of  any  of  the  band  that  every 
loafer  in  the  country  took  a  shot  at  them;  and  one  of 
them  hit  my  Morgan  stallion.  But  Arano  escaped. 
Where  he  hid  I  don't  know,  but  I  really  believe  my 
vaquero  knew  of  his  taking  my  matched  sorrels." 

The  Dutchman  laughed. 

"Finnerty,"  he  commented  in  a  tone  between  bitter 
ness  and  compassion,  "a  butcher  like  myself — a  man  what 
trabbles  through  the  country  with  his  $40,000  or  $50,000 
to  buy  up  caddies,  knows  every  man  in  the  country,  wed- 
der  he  be  a  honest  man  or  a  horsethief.  It's  a  blessing 
everybody  in  dis  country  know  you  for  an  honest  man, 
udderwise  he  take  you  for  a  horsethief,  you  talk  so  foolish. 
Somebody  don't  know  you  he  think  you  horsethief,  too. 
Of  course,  your  vaquero  was  a  rascal,  and  everybody  in 
the  country  knows  it  but  yourself." 

"Well,  but,  Meyer,"  urged  Finnerty  in  his  most 
propitiating  manner,  "I  could  not  blame  the  young  fellow 
for  wanting  to  get  back  to  the  woman  he  loved." 

"Did  he  reach  his  wife,"  asked  the  dramatist,  eagerly. 

"Neither  his  wife  nor  Mexico,"  Finnerty  shook  his 
head,  sadly.  "I  have  so  often  thought  of  his  poor  young 
wife  and  his  old  father — he  never  saw  them  again.  You 
see,  the  country  was  so  thoroughly  aroused,  so  many 
people  were  out  on  the  warpath  against  the  band,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  break  through  the  lines.  It  was  only 


236        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

some  twenty-five  miles  below  where  I  was  then  living 
that  the  young  fellow  was  killed ;  just  who  had  killed  him 
no  one  could  say,  and  there  was  endless  wrangling  over 
the  blood  money.  Young  Arano  was  found  dying  in  the 
thicket  where  he  had  dragged  himself  after  receiving  his 
death  wound,  and  all  he  ever  spoke  after  this,  was  the 
name  of  his  wife.  'Inez — Inez — Inez/  he  called  out  three 
times  and  never  spoke  again.'* 

"How  tragic !"  exclaimed  the  scribe,  adding  mentally : 
"Eureka !  I  have  found  it,  the  name  of  the  bandit  bride !" 
And  when  he  noticed  the  woman  leaning  forward,  her 
face  blanched,  her  brows  contracted  till  they  formed  one 
straight  black  line,  her  teeth  set  and  her  eyes  ablaze,  he 
inwardly  exulted.  "Aha!"  he  said  to  himself,  "heroic  as 
well  as  sympathetic;  I  must  hold  fast  this  character  by 
all  means — just  the  thing  I  want  for  my  'Bandit's 
Bride.' " 

The  face  of  the  Southerner  was  almost  as  pale  as  that 
of  the  woman  in  the  corner,  and  the  hand  he  mechan 
ically  drew  through  his  beard  was  trembling.  Without 
knowing  it  he  had  so  raised  his  voice  that  both  the 
Colonel  and  the  dry  goods  man  started  from  their  slum 
bers  ;  the  former  fell  to  putting  his  left  leg  in  a  more  com 
fortable  position,  the  latter  to  rubbing  his  eyes  and  yawn 
ing  with  all  his  might  and  main. 

Far  beneath  them  lay  the  ancient  town,  the  walls  of 
the  Mission  Church  of  San  Juan  Bautista  gleaming  white 
in  the  hot  sun.  The  low  adobe  houses  whitewashed,  rose 
embowered,  wall  encircled,  with  vines  trailing  over  re- 
mada  and  red-tiled  roof  had  preserved  sufficient  of  the 
Spanish  features  to  give  to  the  little  town  the  look  of  en 
chantment  which  these  places  bear — at  a  safe  distance. 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIM  237 

Few  of  the  buildings  only  attain  to  the  dignity  of  a  sec 
ond  story,  and  one  of  these  was  a  solid-looking  structure, 
part  adobe,  part  frame — the  "hotel"  at  which  the  stage 
was  to  stop. 

The  sheep  ranges  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
the  town,  still  being  green,  the  lower  hills  surrounding  it 
still  clothed  in  verdure,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  the  journalist  gazed  with  rapture  on  the  scene  as 
the  stage  wound  along  the  mountain  side.  It  would  not 
be  long  now  till  San  Juan  would  be  reached,  and  again 
all  the  inmates  of  the  coach  fell  to  wondering  about  the 
solitary  lady  passenger.  Would  she  stop?  Would  she 
go  on?  Who  would  help  her  out? 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Colonel  to  himself,  decisively,  "let 
Southern  chivalry  unload  that  stone  image." 

The  dry  goods  man  scanned  her  once  more.  She  had 
never  been  in  his  store,  he  knew;  why  should  he  bother? 
His  red-headed  wife  was  given  to  jealousy,  and  the 
Colonel — well,  the  Colonel  would  have  his  joke,  and 
would  be  sure  to  bring  it  to  her  ears.  The  journalist  had 
long  since  decided  that  the  Southerner  would  appreciate 
the  distinction  of  lifting  the  only  lady  from  the  coach ; 
and  he  liked  the  Southerner  and  felt  under  obligations  to 
him.  Butcher  Meyer  had  not  thought  of  the  matter  at 
all;  evidently  he  thought  of  nothing  but  "fad  caddies" 
as  a  general  thing;  and  by  this  same  token  he  returned 
to  his  muttons. 

"Dem  plasted  roppers,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than 
to  any  one  in  particular.  "If  Finnerty  had  only  caught 
the  young  horsethief  and  got  part  of  the  reward." 

"Thank  you,"  interrupted  Finnerty  with  marked  cold 
ness,  "I  am  no  thief  catcher!" 


238        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"And  pesides,"  continued  the  aggrieved  man  of  beef, 
"dey  say  dat  young  fellow  had  $20,000  in  gold  on  him ;  he 
was  going  to  take  it  to  Mexico  for  Vasquez." 

"Nonsense,"  laughed  Finnerty,  "how  could  he  have 
carried  it?  One  of  the  sorrels  was  stolen  by  one  of  the 
gang,  and  the  other  was  shot  under  him." 

"Yes,  but  the  money  might  have  been  taken  by  the 
men  that  found  him  and  divided  up  among  them — don't 
you  see  it?  Vat  you  say,  Colonel — hey?"  and  he  nudged 
the  doughty  Colonel  in  the  ribs  to  show  on  what  familiar 
terms  he  was  with  the  largest  landholder  in  the  Salinas 
valley. 

"Yes,  yes,  Meyer ;  I'll  bet  you  the  money  he  got  for  the 
five  hundred  head  of  'fad  caddies'  was  among  the  swag." 

Everybody  laughed,  while  everybody  was  putting  his 
things  together  preparatory  to  leaving  the  stage  the  mo 
ment  it  should  stop. 

"But  what  could  have  become  of  it?"  queried  the  dry 
goods  man,  who  got  his  things  together  more  quickly 
than  the  rest ;  "they  do  say  that  his  young  lieutenant  had 
been  given  a  large  sum  of  money  by  Vasquez;  he  had 
perfect  confidence  in  him." 

"But  what  could  have  become  of  it?"  asked  the  South 
erner. 

The  stage  stopped  with  a  jolt;  the  Colonel  was  given 
ample  time  to  climb  out  comfortably  while  the  rest 
looked  on ;  and  to  the  Southerner's  question  the  dry  goods 
man  replied  in  an  offhand  manner: 

"Oh — well,"  as  Meyer  says,  "those  who  found  him 
went  snooks  on  the  loot,"  and  thinking  that  he,  too,  had 
said  something  funny,  he  was  surprised  when  he  looked 
into  the  Southerner's  perfectly  serious  face. 


THE  WOMAN  WHO  LOST  HIN  239 

This  gentleman  was  making  ready  to  descend  after 
him,  while  the  journalist  sat  well  back  in  his  seat  to 
intimate  that  he  would  be  the  last  to  leave  the  vehicle ; 
and  he  was  startled  beyond  measure  to  hear  the  South 
erner  enunciate  in  his  quiet  tones: 

"That  cannot  be  so;  for  I  am  the  man  that  found  him." 
As  he  sprang  lightly  to  the  ground  he  turned  to  lift  out 
the  lady  who  had  risen  from  her  seat  to  follow  him.  For 
one  brief  moment  her  dark,  gray  orbs  met  his  honest 
brown  eyes,  and  he  felt  the  pressure  of  her  warm,  soft 
fingers. 

Then  for  the  first  time  she  spoke : 
"And  I  am  the  woman  who  lost  him,"  she  said. 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE 

It  was  a  little  aside  from  the  main  road  that  leads 
through  the  mountains  to  Santa  Cruz,  and  the  homely, 
comfortable  house,  with  a  broad  porch  running  the  full 
length  of  the  front  facing  the  by-road,  had  originally 
been  built  to  accommodate  the  hands  in  the  Hume  saw 
mill  with  board  and  lodgement.  Now  the  mill  had  been 
moved  "furder  down  the  gulch"  in  order  to  procure  more 
plentiful  food  for  its  greedy  teeth,  and  Mr.  Brown,  erst 
while  bullwhacker  in  the  employ  of  the  company,  had 
been  given  this  cottage  as  residence,  since  the  boarding 
house  had  followed  the  mill  "furder  down  the  gulch," 
and  Mr.  Brown,  by  reason  of  increasing  years  and  obe 
sity,  had  been  compelled  to  lay  aside  rawhide  and  black- 
snake  forever. 

The  Browns,  or  more  correctly  speaking,  Mrs.  Brown, 
had  nailed,  and  nailed,  and  knocked,  and  hammered 
around  till  the  old  house  had  become  the  neat,  cozy  home 
it  was,  and  it  quite  looked  the  place  for  the  schoolmarm 
to  board  at  and  an  occasional  tourist  to  rest  in  for  a  few 
days,  while  taking  views  of  sylvan  scenery  and  distant 
coast  glimpses. 

The  water  trough  in  front  of  the  house,  with  its  over 
hanging  willow,  seemed  as  indispensable  now  as  in  the 
earlier  days,  and  when  Jim,  or  Bill,  or  Dick  turned  mill- 
ward  in  the  evening,  having  delivered  their  load  of  lum 
ber  at  its  proper  destination,  the  horses  always  stopped 
at  the  trough,  and  Miss  Brown,  fresh,  rosy  and  a  little 
bit  freckled,  was  always  on  the  porch  for  a  chat  or  a 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  241 

flirtation.  Sometimes  Jim,  Bill  or  Dick  came  back  to 
call,  later  in  the  evening,  when  they  were  made  welcome 
by  Mother  Brown,  as  well  as  the  daughter. 

It  was  Jim  who  was  watering  his  horse  at  the  trough 
this  evening,  and  making  conversation  with  Miss  Brown, 
which  conversation  seemed  of  so  absorbing  a  nature 
that  the  man  who  came  up  the  road  on  his  wheel  was  not 
noticed  by  either  till  he  stopped  near  the  trough  and 
addressed  the  teamster. 

"Yep,"  was  Jim's  reply,  "the  road  you  left  was  the  road 
to  Santa  Cruz ;  this  yere  one  takes  you  down  to  Hume's 
mill.  But  come  closter,"  he  continued  facetiously,  "an' 
give  yer  horse  a  drink.  Mebbe  you'd  like  to  tie  up  for 
the  night ;  mighty  good  house  this,  and  no  other  boarders 
now — 'ceptin'  the  schoolmarm" — with  a  squint  of  his 
mischievous  black  eyes  toward  the  house. 

"Young  lady  on  the  porch  just  now?"  asked  the 
stranger,  for  Miss  Brown  had  vanished,  presumably  to 
inform  her  mother  of  the  new  arrival. 

"Naw — that  was  old  Pop  Brown's  daughter;  don't 
ketch  her  mopin'  over  an'  ole  book  in  a  corner  when  we 
fellers  come  round." 

It  seemed  only  the  right  thing  to  do  for  the  stranger  to 
mount  the  low  steps  to  the  porch  and  take  a  cursory  look 
over  the  place  he  had  been  advised  to  "tie  up"  at,  and  he 
went  toward  the  open  door  of  the  hall,  or  sitting  room, 
whatever  it  might  be  termed.  Just  as  he  caught  sight  of 
a  slender,  girlish  figure,  trying  to  catch  the  fading  light 
on  the  page  she  was  reading,  and  of  the  stretches  of  green 
slope  climbing  upward  to  a  mountain  crowned  with  dark, 
sombre  redwoods,  as  seen  through  the  window  by  which 
the  girl  was  sitting,  another  door  opened  and  Mrs, 


242        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Brown,  ample  of  proportion,  and  with  a  motherly  smile 
on  her  broad  face,  stepped  into  the  room. 

It  would  be  doing  her  an  injustice  to  say  that  she  scru 
tinized  her  would-be  guest  very  closely,  so  many  had 
stopped  here,  some  with  camera  and  sketch  book,  others 
merely  on  the  way  to  or  from  Santa  Cruz,  on  wheel,  on 
foot  or  on  horseback,  and  all,  as  far  as  she  could  see, 
dressed  in  the  same  kind  of  grey  clothes  that  this  young 
man  wore.  During  the  greeting  the  stranger  had  lost 
sight  of  the  figure  by  the  window,  and  when  he  turned 
again  it  had  gone.  Nevertheless,  he  walked  up  to  the 
window,  and  scrutinized  closely  and  with  much  interest 
the  landscape  he  saw  from  there. 

At  the  supper  table  he  found  the  ladies  already  seated ; 
there  were  no  introductions ;  but  he  seemed  a  man  of  re 
sources,  and  he  began  a  conversation  with  the  pater 
familias,  which  had  for  its  theme  the  various  beauties 
and  advantages  which  this  portion  of  the  Santa  Cruz 
mountains  possessed  over  all  other  parts  of  it,  turning 
suddenly  with  an  enthusiastic,  "Don't  you  think  so,  too, 

Miss "  to  the  schoolmarm,  seated  opposite  to  him.  A 

pair  of  soft  brown  eyes,  direct  yet  with  half-timid  ex 
pression,  were  raised  to  his  a  moment  as  she  supplied  the 
name  he  did  not  know — "Watson";  and  then  were  low 
ered  again  with  maidenly  reserve. 

These  eyes  had  traveled  questioningly  across  the 
board  once  or  twice  to  where  the  stranger  sat,  as  though 
something  had  drawn  them  there  involuntarily ;  but  they 
were  drooped  now  while  he  said  something  flattering  to 
Miss  Brown  about  the  effect  that  the  climate  had  on  the 
good  looks  of  young  ladies  who  had  always  lived  here. 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  243 

"Yes,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Brown,  "my  daughter  Ma-Maud 
was  born  and  bred  in  these  mountains." 

Mr.  Brown,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  watching  his 
chance  to  ask  the  stranger  a  question,  the  answer  to 
which  did  not  reach  the  schoolmarm's  ears ;  but  when  he 
told  his  wife,  soon  after,  that  Mr.  Robertson  would  stay 
for  a  day  or  two,  the  young  girl  thought  she  saw  a 
startled  look  on  the  stranger's  face,  which  look  changed 
into  an  amused  smile,  before  fading  away.  After  the 
supper  dishes  had  been  cleared  away,  came  Jim,  Bill  and 
Dick;  but  no  one  seemed  surprised  when  the  school 
teacher  took  up  her  book  again  and  began  to  read  by  the 
light  of  the  lamp  on  the  dining  table,  which  had  been 
moved  back  against  the  wall.  No  one  addressed  her,  and 
the  company  was  most  ably  entertained  by  the  Brown 
family,  without  the  aid  of  the  young  schoolmarm. 

As  the  three  young  men  from  the  sawmill  sat  with 
their  chairs  tilted  back  against  the  wall,  the  newcomer 
fell  into  the  ways  of  the  country  at  once  by  tilting  back 
his  chair  too;  but  the  only  available  spot  for  this  pur 
pose  happened  to  be  where  his  eyes  necessarily  fell  on 
the  young  girl  dressed  in  black  that  sat  reading  at  the 
table.  It  was  only  natural  that  Mr.  Brown  should  in 
quire  how  things  were  going  at  the  mill,  and  he  was  as 
sured  that  things  were  running  smoothly. 

"But,  Jim,"  said  Dick,  "you  didn't  tell  about  the  acci 
dent  Bob  had  at  Krench's  mill." 

"What  was  it?"  inquired  the  Brown  family  in  one 
breath. 

"Why,  Bob  was  gettin'  out  a  log  on  the  skid-road,  an* 
the  horse  slipped  and  fell  right  onto  him  an'  broke  his 
leg  above  the  knee." 


244         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"What  did  I  always  tell  you,  boys?"  wheezed  Papa 
Brown,  excitedly.  "I  tell  you  horses  ain't  no  good  haul- 
in'  out  logs ;  oxen's  the  thing  to  do  it  with ;  they  wouldn't 
be  half  so  many  accidents  if  they'd  stick  to  that." 

"You  see "    Mrs.  Brown  turned  to  explain  to  the 

"tenderfoot"  (as  the  boys  already  had  dubbed  the 
stranger),  "my  husband,  Mr.  Brown,  is  known  for  the 
best  ox-driver  that  ever  handled  logs  in  the  whole  coun 
ty  of  Santa  Cruz — isn't  it  so,  boys?" 

"Thet's  so;"  from  three  distinct  voices. 

"And  he  told  'em,  when  they  said  he'd  better  lay  off 
for  good,  since  they  were  going  to  use  horses  now,  that 
there'd  be  nothing  but  accidents  and  runaways  on  every 
skid-road  in  the  mountains.  But  they  wouldn't  believe 
him ;  now  they've  got  it.  Why,  my  husband  could  make 
them  oxen  pull  the  way  no  horses  ever  can  pull.  He 
could  almost  cut  'em  in  two  with  the  biacksnake,  till 
they'd  jest  beller;  but  he  made  'em  pull,  all  the  same. 
Horses  is  no  'count  on  a  skid-road ;  you  can  jest  take  the 
chain  offen  the  log  an'  beat  'em  half  to  death  with  it,  and 
then  you  can't  make  'em  pull." 

Miss  Brown  had  been  smiling  for  some  time,  and  she 
now  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Look  at  Florence!"  she  ex 
ploded.  "Wouldn't  you  think  she  was  going  into  con 
niption-fits?  Says  she  can't  bear  to  see  a  helpless  brute 
abused ;  says  she'd  rather  take  the  beatin'  herself." 

Jim,  Bill  and  Dick  joined  in  the  laugh,  while  Mrs. 
Brown  explained  good-naturedly  to  the  schoolmarm, 
who, .as  the  stranger  noticed,  had  grown  pale  and  was 
shivering  as  though  the  lash  had  struck  her,  that  oxen 
were  made  to  work  or  get  licked  if  they  didn't ;  and  that 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  245 

Mr.  Brown  had  always  fed  his  critters  just  as  much  as 
they  could  eat. 

"What  might  your  name  be?"  asked  Jim  of  our  friend; 
he  felt  better  acquainted  with  him  as  having  met  him 
first  in  the  afternoon. 

"Ted,"  was  the  pleasant  reply. 

"Come  up  here  to  look  for  a  job?" 

"Shouldn't  object,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Ever  work  in  timber?" 

"Some." 

"Did  ever  you  fall  any  redwoods?"  Bill  now  took  up 
the  catechism. 

"No — can't  say  I  ever  did,  but  I  believe  I  could  do  it. 
My  dad  was  the  boss  faller  over  in  the  redwoods  there, 

for  years ,"  he  jerked  his  head  toward  the  window 

through  which  he  had  looked  in  the  afternoon. 

"Fallin'  redwoods  is  no  joke,"  contined  Bill,  "I'm  no 
slouch  at  fallin'  myself;  but  I  believe  the  boss  would 
give  you  a  job  at  fallin'  if  you  come  over  in  the  morning." 
He  winked  at  his  two  companions. 

But  he  frankly  took  back  whatever  he  might  have  said 
in  derision  of  the  tenderfoot,  when  the  young  man  did 
go  down  to  the  mill  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  day  made  rapid  strides  toward  "fallin'  "  a  good-sized 
redwood,  which  none  of  the  others  had  wanted  to  tackle 
alone.  He  got  no  job,  however,  as  they  were  not  "short- 
handed"  at  the  mill.  Nevertheless,  he  staid  on  at  the 
cottage ;  paying  his  board  for  a  week  in  advance,  he  bor 
rowed  old  Brown's  gun  and  delighted  Mrs.  Brown  by 
bringing  home  a  full  game  bag  every  time  he  went  out ; 
and  Miss  Brown  was  equally  delighted  with  the  bunches 


246        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

of  flowers  he  brought  to  her,  for  Ma-Maud  was  sup 
posed  to  be  very  fond  of  flowers.  The  prefix  of  "Ma" 
to  her  name  proved  to  be  quite  unintentional,  as  he  dis 
covered  one  day  when  the  old  man  called  his  daughter 
"Matildy,"  and  got  an  angry  look  from  both  mother  and 
daughter  for  his  indiscretion.  It  was  evident  that 
"Maud"  had  been  adopted  as  a  more  fashionable  name, 
though  they  might  have  shunned  that  form  of  it  had  they 
known  it  was  really  the  more  old-fashioned  of  the  two. 
However,  Maud-Matilda  was  happy  in  the  possession  of 
her  new-fashioned  name  and  the  admiration  of  the  gen 
tlemen  who  came  there. 

The  schoolmarm  came  in  for  very  little  of  the  young 
man's  attention,  Ma-Maud  told  her  mother  with  great 
satisfaction;  but  it  happened  one  afternoon  that  he 
crossed  the  trail  which  led  up  from  the  bare,  unattractive 
school  house  to  the  higher  lying  Brown  cottage.  He  was 
in  pursuit  of  game,  he  frankly  averred,  but  it  was  evident 
he  had  come  from  the  direction  of  the  forest-crowned 
mountain  that  rose  between  the  Brown  cottage  and  the 
bay,  and  which  had  attracted  his  attention  that  first  day 
of  his  arrival.  He  had  really  come  up  behind  her  and 
had  been  studying  her  height,  her  walk  and  her  carriage, 
drawing  comparisons,  perhaps,  between  her  and  Maud. 
She  was  taller  than  he  had  first  thought;  there  was  in 
finite  grace  in  her  bearing,  and  she  stepped  as  lightly  as 
though  walking  in  the  paved  streets  of  a  city. 

There  was  a  start  and  a  flush  when  he  stepped  on  a 
crackling  bush  behind  her,  and  she  turned  with  more 
pleasure  than  surprise  in  her  look,  he  flattered  himself. 
After  a  few  words  of  greeting  he  passed  on  again,  and 
she  did  not  think  it  necessary  or  of  sufficient  importance 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  247 

to   mention   the   chance   encounter   to    Matilda   or   her 
mother. 

Lounging  in  the  house  one  day,  when  an  early  morn 
ing  fog  had  turned  into  a  dreary  rain,  he  suddenly  asked, 
with  an  air  of  a  martyr  being  led  to  the  stake :  "Do  you 
want  me  to  go  down  and  carry  the  schoolmarm's  rub 
ber  coat  and  overshoes  to  her?" 

Maud  Matilda  and  her  mother  both  laughed.  "You'd 
get  small  thanks,"  the  mother  said.  "Why,  she's  that 
high  and  mighty  that  Jim  and  Bill  and  Dick  have  just 
quit  entirely  offering  to  escort  her  or  wait  on  her  in  any 
way.  She's  the  proudest  I  ever  saw." 

"Wonder  what  she's  proud  of?"  put  in  Matilda  spite 
fully.  "You  know  pop  is  one  of  the  school  trustees,  and 
he  heard  that  her  people  were  as  poor  as  church  mice, 
and  she  puttin'  on  airs  here,  and  grasping  and  greedy 
into  the  bargain." 

"How's  that?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"W^ell,  sir;  when  she  first  came  here  she  asked  maw 
if  she  couldn't  have  her  board  cheaper  if  she  gave  me 
lessons  after  school  hours.  Think  of  that,  will  you?" 

The  young  man  seemed  speechless  with  surprise  and 
indignation. 

"An',  Ma-Maud  told  her  that  her  eddication  was  done 
finished,  thank  you,  an'  that  she  couldn't  learn  her  noth 
ing  nohow." 

"Ha — a  fitting  reply  and  well  expressed,"  he  approved, 
enthusiastically. 

Hours  later,  when  he  had  convinced  himself  that  the 
teacher  had  taken  both  rain-cloak  and  rubbers  with  her 
in  the  morning,  he  looked  keenly  into  her  face  while  he 
walked  beside  her  a  little  piece,  to  trace,  if  possible,  the 


248        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCHACKlN 

lines  of  greed  and  avarice  in  her  features.  It  was  the 
same  sweet,  pensive  face  he  had  looked  into  on  his  first 
arrival,  the  same  soulful  eyes  that  had  a  look  in  them 
half  shy,  yet  very  earnest.  A  question  arose  to  his  lips, 
but  he  closed  them  firmly,  and  he  soon  left  her  to  walk 
her  way  home  alone.  Late  in  the  evening  he,  too, 
reached  the  haven,  with  a  well-filled  game  bag. 

After  this  came  bright  sunny  days  again ;  and  one  Sat 
urday  the  young  man,  Ted,  with  his  gun  and  game-bag 
to  hand,  called  out  to  the  two  young  girls  who  were 
"doing  up"  their  joint  room : 

"If  I  could  persuade  a  couple  of  young  ladies  to  show 
me  the  way  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  over  yonder,  I  should 
try  to  shoot  a  grizzly  up  there." 

"Come  on,  Florence,  kss  go!"  cried  Matilda;  and  be 
fore  she  had  time  to  decline  the  invitation,  and  while 
Ma-Maud  was  "fixin'  up,"  Florence  caught  a  beseech 
ing  look  from  a  pair  of  dark  gray  eyes;  so  that  when 
Matilda  came  down,  Florence  was  already  drawing  011 
her  gloves. 

"What— with  that  old  hat  on  ?"  she  asked  Florence. 

The  teacher's  delicate  face  flushed.  "I  could  not  well 
put  on  my  black  bonnet,"  she  said,  simply;  and  then  the 
three  started. 

They  soon  left  the  school  trail  and  began  the  ascent  on 
the  opposite  slope.  The  feet  sank  into  green  mosses, 
and  the  ladies'  skirts  were  brushed  by  ferns  and  wild 
flowers.  White,  pink,  purple,  blue  and  yellow,  every 
shade  and  color  was  represented  in  this  carpet;  ane 
mones,  triliums,  violets,  baby  blue-eyes,  pimpernel,  jack- 
in-the-pulpit ;  while  farther  off,  among  moldering  logs, 
and  in  densest  solitude,  Florence  recognized  the  rarer, 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  249 

though  less  color-bright,  orchids  of  the  country.  Above 
them  and  around  them  sang  the  birds,  robins,  thrushes 
and  mockingbirds,  first  cousins  to  each  other,  little  blue- 
breasted  birds  that  live  in  hills  and  valleys  alike,  and 
the  oriole,  which  lives  and  sings  deep  in  the  heart  of  the 
mountains.  How  beautiful  it  all  was.  Once,  when  Flor 
ence  stood  lost  in  thought  and  rapture,  the  young  man 
sprang  quickly  to  her  side. 

"Let  me  help  you  over,  Miss  Florence,"  he  said  as  he 
took  her  hands  in  his  and  drew  her  up  on  a  log,  buried  in 
ferns  and  moss,  which  she  had  not  even  seen  until  now. 

But  he  held  her  hands  longer  than  there  was  any  need 
for,  though  it  was  some  little  time  before  Florence  got 
ready  for  the  leap ;  she  felt  so  safe  with  the  strong,  tender 
clasp  of  those  other  hands  about  her  own.  Matilda  came 
up  with  a  bunch  of  posies  stuck  in  her  belt,  and  they  be 
gan  to  ascend  the  height,  first  through  hazel  bushes, 
wild  cherry  trees,  the  native  currant,  gay  with  clusters 
of  pink  bells,  and  the  ceanothus,  the  lilac  of  California, 
covered  with  blue,  feathery  flower-fronds.  The  tall, 
slender  fir  grew  above  them,  and  soon  the  wide-spread 
ing,  stately  madrone,  proud  of  its  dark  green  shiny  leaves 
and  new  dress  of  green  and  gold,  seemed  to  claim  admira 
tion  and  homage  to  the  exclusion  of  oak,  laurel  and  pines. 
But  the  fir  alone  had  the  breeze  for  a  comrade,  and  their 
sighs  and  whisperings  were  very  sweet  to  listen  to. 

It  is  the  lighter  green  and  the  ever-stirring  foliage  of 
these  trees  that  make  the  great,  straight  stem,  and  im 
movable  branches  of  the  giant  redwoods  so  much  more 
impressive  when  approached  thus  where  they  still  stand 
in  all  their  somber  majesty;  and  today  again  the  city- 
bred  girl  seemed  overawed  by  their  grandeur.  She  stood 


250        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

for  a  moment  as  on  the  threshold  of  a  temple,  forgetful 
of  the  dark,  gray  eyes  that  were  following  every  change 
of  expression  on  her  face. 

The  sun  had  grown  oppressively  warm,  as  it  does 
sometimes  in  California,  even  so  early  in  spring.  Sud 
denly  a  light  puff  of  wind  seemed  to  bring  a  suggestion 
of  ocean  with  it,  and  turning  to  the  East,  Florence  ut 
tered  a  cry  of  delight,  changing  on  the  instant  almost  to 
one  of  dismay.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Monterey 
Bay,  and  fair  Santa  Cruz,  lying  bathed  in  sunshine, 
climbing  from  the  bay  shore  up  the  green  hills ;  but  she 
had  also  seen,  immediately  below  her,  one  of  the  battle 
fields  of  which  California  has  all  too  many,  scenes  of 
slaughter  and  carnage,  where  the  mutilated,  blackened 
limbs  and  trunks  of  giant  redwood  trees  attest  the  bar 
barism,  the  fury  of  man  against  his  best  friend,  the  shel 
tering,  fostering  redwood  tree,  when  he  is  bent  on  gain 
and  filled  with  greed.  The  young  man  winced  when 
Florence  cried  out  with  flashing  eyes  and  flaming 
cheeks : 

"How  can  they — oh!  how  can  they!  And  while  they 
destroy  the  forest  with  fire  and  ax,  every  living  creature 
in  it  perishes  helpless  in  the  flames " 

Maud  Matilda,  eminently  practical,  had  been  tittering 
over  Florence's  "fine  frenzy,"  and  now  broke  out  laugh 
ing. 

"Timber  was  made  to  be  cut,  I  say,  and  they've  got  to 
burn  out  the  underbrush  before  they  can  cut  it,  and  that's 
the  long  and  short  of  it.  But  that  baby,"  pointing  to 
Florence,  "what  did  she  do  but  pick  up  a  little  squirrel 
that  almost  had  its  feet  burned  off,  when  they  were  burn 
ing  underbrush  on  one  of  the  timber  tracts  last  year,  and 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  251 

pack  it  in  cotton  and  nurse  it,  and  feed  it  with  bread  and 
milk,  and  cry,  like  the  baby  she  is,  when  the  critter  died ! 
Well,  I  never;  I  thought  I  should  die  a'laughing." 

Tears  had  gathered  in  Florence's  great  brown  eyes, 
but  the  young  man  did  not  seem  to  notice  her  distress, 
though  his  face  worked  strangely  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  declared  himself  ferociously  hungry,  and  advised  the 
two  young  ladies  to  lead  him  back  home  in  time  for 
lunch,  so  that  he  might  not  grow  dangerous. 

Looking  across  to  the  bay  once  more  where  the  breeze 
was  curling  the  blue  waters  into  little  white  waves,  Flor 
ence  said  dreamily: 

"Just  so  we  could  look  down  upon  San  Francisco  Bay 
from  the  room  in  the  turret  at  the  east  end  of  the  house. 
My  mother  so  loved  that  window." 

"And  is  your  mother  there  now?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"No,  oh,  no,"  her  voice  faltered  a  little;  "after  my 
father's  death  the  house  went  to  strangers.  My  mother 
has  a  little  home  with  her  sister  now,  and  I  help  take  care 
of  her,"  she  added,  not  without  pride. 

Again  a  queer  look  came  into  the  man's  face,  and  he 
was  evidently  forcing  back  a  word  that  rose  to  his  lips. 
But  one  of  his  quick,  keen  glances  flew  across  to  Flor 
ence's  face. 

Had  Florence  ever  been  in  touch  with  her  landlady 
and  her  daughter,  she  must  have  noticed  a  certain  cool 
ness  and  restraint  on  the  part  of  both,  which  would  have 
found  its  explanation  in  certain  confidences  exchanged 
between  mother  and  daughter,  just  after  the  memorable 
morning's  walk.  The  outcome  of  these  deliberations 
was  a  "talk"  rather  forced  on  the  young  man,  Ted, 


252        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

though  he  accepted  it  gracefully  and  rather  more  grate 
fully  than  they  ever  knew. 

There  must  be  some  reason  for  his  still  "hangin* 
round,"  the  mother  had.  convinced  herself  after  his  efforts 
to  find  a  job  had  failed.  He  paid  his  board  with  scrupu 
lous  regularity,  and  a  man  with  such  shoulders  and  such 
ready  hands  would  be  sure  to  find  work  somewhere  even 
if  not  right  here.  Considering  all  these  things  within 
herself,  Mother  Brown  thought  it  well  to  intimate  that 
her  daughter  had  been  brought  up  to  be  a  helpmate  to  a 
man  who  had  only  a  cottage  to  offer,  and  the  labor  of 
his  hands,  as  well  as  to  adorn  the  palace  of  a  wealthy 
man,  should  it  be  her  lot  to  marry  one. 

"She  ain't  like  some  other  girls  I  know  of ;  there's  that 
little  schoolmarm  now.  What's  she  got  to  be  proud  of, 
I'd  like  to  know,  and  I've  heerd  her,  with  my  own  ears, 
say  she  would  rather  die  than  marry  a  poor  man.  What 
d'ye  think  of  that,  now?" 

"It's  preposterous!"  exclaimed  the  young  man  with 
honest  indignation. 

He  joined  Matilda  on  the  front  porch  where  she  was 
engaged  churning  butter,  and  he  told  her  with  his  bright 
est  smile  that  he  was  famishing  for  a  glass  of  buttermilk, 
and  that  he  would  promise  to  go  out  and  kill  something 
for  supper  if  he  got  it  in  time. 

He  did  go  out  after  lunch  and  shoot  something,  but 
he  hid  gun  and  game  bag  before  he  waylaid  the  school- 
marm  on  her  way  home. 

"How  can  she  be  mercenary  and  calculating  with  that 
soft  bright  light  in  her  eyes?"  he  asked  himself,  half 
aloud. 

He  had  studied  the  approaching  figure  so  intently  that 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  253 

he  forgot  his  usual  courtesy,  and  stared  at  her  instead  of 
paying  his  respects  or  greeting  her.  Her  face,  timidly 
happy,  grew  troubled. 

"You  are  tired,"  he  said  quickly,  as  he  took  basket  and 
school  books  from  her.  "It  is  not  an  easy  task  for  you, 
the  walk  to  and  from  the  school,  the  school  itself,  and 
these  uncongenial  surroundings." 

She  sighed  deeply,  "That  is  the  curse  of  poverty." 

"It  is  harder  to  bear  for  a  woman  to  be  sure,  than  for  a 
man.  While  we  have  health  and  youth  we  care  little 
whether  we  lay  up  for  the  future  or  not.  But  poverty 
comes  hard  to  you?"  he  asked  as  his  keen  gray  eyes 
searched  her  face. 

There  was  an  added  look  of  sorrow  on  her  down-bent 
face  and  she  clasped  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"My  father  preferred  death  to  poverty,  and  the  last 
wish  he  wrote  down  was  that  I  might  never  know  pov 
erty  through  marrying  a  penniless  man." 

The  gray  eyes  that  seemed  to  fathom  men's  souls  could 
express  tenderness  and  sympathy,  too,  and  he  asked 
quickly,  "Your  father  was " 

"Abner  Watson,  the  bankrupt  suicide,  yes." 

"Poor  child,"  he  muttered,  "poor  child;  and  do  those 
people  know  about  it?"  he  asked  with  a  nod  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Brown  cottage. 

"No;  only  Mr.  Blank  was  told  by  the  old  friend  who 
got  me  the  school." 

"What  a  burden  those  slender  young  shoulders  have 
had  to  bear,"  he  said  it  more  to  himself  than  to  her,  but 
when  she  shyly  glanced  up,  his  eyes  held  hers  in  a  long, 
tender  look. 

He  came  home  long  after  she  had  arrived  there  and 


254        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

had  put  by  her  basket  and  school  books;  and  that  night, 
when  Jim,  Bill  and  Dick  again  called,  he  no  longer  won 
dered  at  the  quiet  black-robed  figure  sitting  apart  from 
all  with  an  open  book  in  her  hand.  Only  once  did  the 
young  girl  look  up  hastily  from  her  book.  Ted  had  been 
asked  by  Bill  whether  he  had  yet  found  a  job  at  fallin' 
timber,  to  which  the  young  man  replied  that  he  intended 
starting  out  tomorrow  to  see  if  he  could  find  some  other 
job.  Ma-Maud  and  her  mother  were  looking  signifi 
cantly  at  each  other,  so  that  neither  noticed  the  startled 
look  on  Florence's  face,  nor  the  reassuring  glance  that 
flew  back  from  the  young  man's  eyes. 

"I  am  coming  back,  though,"  he  went  on.  "I  think  I 
can  get  a  job  from  a  friend  of  the  old  man's;  he's  got 
some  timber,  off  in  that  direction." 

Neither  of  the  young  lumbermen  took  much  notice  of 
the  gesture;  they  had  agreed  among  themselves  not  to 
take  this  chap  seriously,  more  especially  as  he  had  shown 
dangerous  symptoms  of  being  attentive  to  Maud. 

The  days  dragged  wearily  along  for  poor  Florence, 
when  he  had  gone  away.  To  be  sure,  he  was  poor,  and 
he  could  never  be  anything  to  her ;  but  she  kept  listening 
for  a  quick  crackling  of  the  brush  wood  on  her  way 
home  from  school,  and  she  missed  the  firm  step  that 
passed  over  the  porch  into  the  sitting  room  and  out 
again,  till  it  came  to  a  sudden  stop  when  she  had  been 
spied,  half-hidden  in  some  corner  with  her  book  as  a 
shield  against  all  attacks — conversational  and  every  other 
kind.  He  had  never  sought  her  out  in  her  corner  except 
in  the  presence  of  Matilda  and  her  mother;  but  she  had 
never  felt  friendless  or  forlorn  through  all  those  weeks 
that  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  Brown  cottage.  Her 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  255 

cheeks  grew  pale  with  waiting.  Again  the  redwoods 
were  her  best  friends,  for  she  was  constantly  at  the  win 
dow,  where  he  had  first  seen  her,  looking  across  the  slope 
and  up  to  the  forest-crowned  hill. 

One  day  Pop  Brown  went  on  business  to  Santa  Cruz 
and  came  back  so  swelled  up  with  news  that  he  wheezed 
and  choked  in  his  attempt  to  tell  it  all  at  once. 

"What  d'ye  think— if  I  didn't  see  Ted  Robertson  in 
town  looking  just  too  big  and  important  for  anything. 
Wanted  to  dodge  me  fust  off,  I  think,  for  he  had  some 
real  tony-lookin'  fellers  with  him.  But  I  goes  right  up, 
slaps  him  on  the  shoulder  an'  sez  I,  'Hello,  Ted,'  an'  sez 
he,  'why,  here's  Pop  Brown/  an'  then  he  turned  to  an 
other  young  feller  an'  sez  he,  'Mr.  Bolles,  this  is  Mr. 
Brown,  the  gentleman  as  knows  all  about  lumber  and 
the  prices  of  it.'  Then  he  takes  me  aside,  an'  he  sez, 
'Pop  Brown,  this  is  just  the  best  thing  I  ever  struck; 
that  young  man  is  an  articheck,  he's  a  schoolmate  o' 
mine,  an'  he's  goin'  to  give  me  a  job  on  a  fancy  cottage 
he's  laid  off  to  build  right  close  in  yer  neighborhood. 
Now,  you  give  him  advice  in  regard  to  where  he's  to  get 
the  lumber,  for  he's  a  first  rate  fellow,  and  not  at  all 
stuck  up.  Yes  sir,"  continued  Pop  Brown,  bridling 
with  importance,  "that  there  city-articheck  he  come  to 
me  an'  I  jest  told  him  what  lumber  to  get  and  where  to 
get  it,  and  he  says  he's  coming  to  see  the  ladies,  too." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  and  "He— he— he— he— I  know'd 
all  along  he  was  coming  here  again,"  were  the  comments 
Florence  heard  in  two  different  keys,  but  she  herself  said 
never  a  word.  She  held  her  book,  though,  in  such  a 
clutch  that  one  would  have  thought  there  was  immi 
nent  danger  of  its  taking  immediate  flight  if  not  held  by 


256        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

main  force.  When  the  others  noticed  her  at  last,  Maud 
went  over  the  whole  story  again  and  had  a  most  atten 
tive  listener  in  Miss  Watson. 

Within  the  week  loads  and  loads  of  lumber,  of  shin 
gles,  of  tongued  and  grooved  "stuff,"  of  surfaced  stuff  and 
every  other  known  kind  of  stuff  used  for  building  was 
on  the  ground  where  the  cottage  was  to  stand,  which, 
from  Pop  Brown's  description  must  have  been  up  among 
the  forest  trees  bordering  the  redwood  tract  which  the 
two  young  ladies  had  visited  together  with  Mr.  Ted. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  though  Florence  had  so  far 
resisted  Maud  Matilda's  importunities  that  they  go  up 
there  and  see  what  was  going  on,  her  heart  did  draw  her, 
too,  in  that  direction.  But  she  conquered  herself,  though 
on  her  walks  to  and  from  the  school  she  always  stopped 
on  the  trail  where  it  was  crossed  by  that  other  trail  that 
had  taken  them  up  toward  the  mountain  that  day.  Not 
that  she  ever  expected  to  see  him  walking  rapidly  toward 
her  again,  with  gun  and  game  bag,  or  that  she  ever  ex 
pected  to  hear  the  undergrowth  crackle  close  behind  her 
again — but  it  did — or  was  it  only  her  imagination?  A 
deadly  pallor  lay  on  her  face  a  moment  and  she  staggered 
so  that  only  a  strong,  outstretched  arm  saved  her  from 
falling. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  said  a  pitying,  soothing  voice.  "Did 
you  miss  me,  Florence?"  He  turned  the  flushing  face 
gently  toward  him. 

"Every  day  of  my  life  since  you  went  away,"  came  in 
a  whisper  from  her  trembling  lips. 

"Be  a  brave  girl  now,"  he  said  cheerily,  but  he  himself 
cast  an  apprehensive  glance  in  all  directions.  "I  shall 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  257 

arrive  some  time  this  evening,  but  you  need  not  herald 
my  coming." 

And  he  was  gone  so  quickly  that  she  thought  it  was 
all  a  dream.  And  he  came  up  to  the  door  on  his  wheel 
that  evening  just  as  he  had  done  before,  and  there  were 
more  "Well— I  declare's,"  and  more  "He— he— he— he's" 
as  he  crossed  the  threshold.  After  the  first  greeting  was 
over,  Ma-Maud  generously  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  called  up : 

"Florence,  come  down  and  see  Ted;  he's  come  back 
and  he's  going  to  stay." 

But  Florence  declined  to  come,  and  Mrs.  Brown  ex 
plained  that  she  was  such  a  puny  thing — had  come  home 
with  a  headache  in  the  afternoon.  Next  morning  she 
was  told  all  the  news;  Ted  and  the  "articheck"  were  to 
board  here,  while  for  the  ten  other  men  a  Chinese  cook 
and  a  tent  had  been  provided.  They  seemed  in  a  great 
hurry  about  putting  up  the  house,  and  Ted  had  said  he 
intended  to  work  overtime  all  he  could  while  the  job 
lasted. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  he  was  always  at 
work ;  and  the  young  "articheck"  seemed  just  as  busy 
as  any  of  the  carpenters.  The  architect  too  was  looked 
upon  with  disfavor  by  Jim,  Bill  and  Dick ;  and  Pop 
Brown,  they  said,  was  "gettin'  too  stuck  up  for  any  use, 
to  say  nothin'  of  the  women  folks."  Ted  tried  to  propi 
tiate  them,  and  partly  succeeded  with  the  aid  of  the 
young  architect,  who  was  "Charley"  with  the  whole 
crowd.  He  said,  one  evening,  that  the  owner  of  the 
house  had  written  about  his  housekeeper  coming  up  with 
the  furniture,  to  fix  up  things  and  take  charge  until  he  re- 


258         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

turned  from  the  East,  so  that  the  house  would  be  all 
ready  for  him. 

"And  boys,"  he  went  on  slapping  Jim  on  the  shoulder, 
"tell  you  what  we'll  do.  The  housekeeper  is  a  good  wo 
man,  and  when  I  was  in  town  the  other  day  I  told  her  I 
had  some  friends  up  here  who  wanted  to  see  the  house, 
and  that  I'd  like  to  have  a  little  spread  to  set  before  them 
when  they'd  climbed  the  hill.  So  she  said  to  me  that  if 
she  could  move  in  soon,  and  get  the  furniture  in,  that  I 
might  invite  all  my  friends  and  she  would  promise  the 
finest  kind  of  a  spread.  See?" 

"We  too?"  asked  Mother  Brown,  indicating  the  entire 
family  with  a  sweep  of  her  hand. 

"Certainly;  it  was  all  arranged  for  you  as  a  surprise; 
that  is  why  we  have  never  asked  the  ladies  to  invite  us 
so  far." 

Matilda  Maud  seemed  concerned  about  the  school- 
marm  as  usual,  "You'll  be  gone  away  by  that  time,  won't 
you  Florence?" 

"Where  would  she  go?"  asked  Mr.  Bolles  in  evident 
alarm. 

"She  goes  home  to  her  mother  for  the  summer  vaca 
tion,"  explained  Mrs.  Brown. 

"When  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Bolles  again. 

"In  June,"  said  Florence  simply. 

"Oh,  well ;  this  picnic  will  be  one  day  in  June,  in  early 
June;  and  you  will  stay  till  then?  Thank  you." 

There  was  general  satisfaction  all  around,  and  when 
Jim,  Bill  and  Dick  went  home  that  night  they  concluded 
the  "articheck"  was  not  half  bad,  and  it  was  well  that 
the  young  fellow  Ted  had  been  shown  his  place  at  last; 
never  had  been  anything  but  an  underling,  nohow.  His 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  259 

dad  boss-faller  in  the  redwoods  'over  there' — and  Bill 
described  a  complete  circle  with  his  hand;  "I'll  bet 
neither  he  nor  his  dad  ever  fallen  a  redwood  in  all  their 
life." 

Work  on  the  cottage  was  "rushed  like  mad,"  Mrs. 
Brown  observed,  and  neither  Ted  nor  the  architect  ever 
came  over  for  lunch  now,  but  took  their  bite  with  the 
other  men.  Two  more  men  had  come  from  the  city  to  do 
painting  and  finishing,  and  the  day  for  the  picnic  came 
nearer. 

Florence  was  always  alone  now,  going  to  school  and 
coming  back.  That  was  what  poverty  meant,  she  said  to 
herself  bitterly,  to  work  and  work  always  for  enough  to 
keep  one  alive,  and  never  a  moment  to  spare  for  any  of 
the  joys  or  pleasures  of  life.  So  she  went  wearily  back 
and  forth,  and  Ted,  poor  fellow,  saw  the  roses  fading 
from  her  cheeks  again,  but  could  say  no  word  to  comfort 
her. 

June  had  come,  and  it  would  be  only  a  question  of  a 
few  days  now  till  she  went  home  to  her  mother — and 
she  reproached  herself  for  the  sigh  that  escaped  her  as 
she  thought  of  it.  One  evening  Mr.  Bolles  came  home 
earlier  than  usual,  bringing  the  tidings  that  Mrs.  Miller 
had  come,  and  all  would  be  ready  for  their  entertainment 
at  the  ne\v  house  on  Saturday  next.  Ted  saw  the  color 
creep  into  Florence's  face,  and  he  slept  sounder  that 
night  than  for  many  a  night  before. 

June  in  California,  in  the  Santa  Cruz  mountains,  is  al 
ways  a  dream  of  Paradise,  and  this  day  in  June  was  more 
perfect  than  the  rest,  if  possible.  The  three  knights  of  the 
skid-road  were  on  hand  bright  and  early  having  "laid 
off  for  a  day"  from  mill-work  and  from  teaming,  in  order 


260        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

to  do  honor  to  the  "articheck  V  invitation.  Pop  Brown, 
with  the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows,  had  decided  to 
drive  up  by  the  rather  rough  road  which  the  lumber 
teams  had  worn  into  the  mountain  side.  All  the  rest 
walked;  and  as  Ma-Maud  felt  the  importance  of  having 
the  bossman  for  her  escort,  as  well  as  the  responsibility 
of  looking  after  the  comfort  and  amusement  of  the  other 
three  swains,  Ted  and  the  schoolmarm  were  left  to  their 
own  devices;  they  cut  no  figure  in  this  show  at  all. 

How  Ted's  face  had  lighted  up  when  his  eyes  greeted 
Florence.  Florence, — no  longer  clad  in  somber  black, 
but  daintly  beautiful  in  white  organdie,  overstrewn 
with  delicate  lilac  leaves  and  sprays,  half  transparent,  so 
that  satiny  shoulders  and  well-rounded  arms  shone 
through.  A  white  hat  with  black  plumes  sat  lightly  on 
her  dark  hair ;  and  the  young  man  thought  he  had  never 
before  beheld  so  fair  a  vision. 

Ma-Maud  fluttered  and  wavered  about  in  front  of 
them  like  some  bird  of  gorgeous  plumage  of  pink  and 
green,  blue  and  yellow,  all  combined ;  and  the  young  arch 
itect  paid  respectful  attention  to  this  combination  of 
colors,  so  much  so  that  she  never  once  thought  of  look 
ing  back  for  Florence. 

Florence's  thoughts  went  back  to  the  day  they  had 
walked  here  before.  They  looked  again  for  the  tiny 
wild  flowers,  but  they  found  instead  the  brilliant  aquile- 
gia,  the  cynoglossum,  with  its  tall  stalk  supporting  clus 
ters  of  dark  blue  flowers ;  the  lovely  harebell  in  tints  of 
pink  and  silver ;  the  big  Solomon's  seal — representing  the 
lily-of-the-valley  of  colder  climes,  and  the  native  crown- 
imperial,  the  bell-hung  fritellaria — all  shades  of  bronze, 
of  green  and  brown,  mixed  in  the  flowers.  The  mocking- 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  261 

bird,  the  robin,  the  oriole,  were  all  on  hand  again ;  and  far 
away,  like  the  sad  refrain  to  some  gay  song,  came  the 
plaintive  cry  of  the  mourning  dove  to  its  mate. 

Florence  stood  with  clasped  hands.  "This  alone  has 
kept  me  from  losing  hope  all  through  the  long  weary 
months  I  have  lived  here.  Goethe  tells  us  that  every  day 
of  our  life  we  must  heed  some  little  poem,  or  follow  the 
thoughts  of  some  great  master  in  music  or  the  arts;  and 
this  has  been  my  poem  and  my  reading — for  Nature  was 
before  art,  and  it  is  poetry  itself,  always,  if  we  will  but 
read  it  aright." 

Ted  seemed  to  awaken  with  a  sigh.  "Ah,  yes;  you 
have  lived  a  dreamy  life  here  among  these  people  who 
would  set  Shakespeare  and  all  the  nine  Muses  to  Tallin* 
timber/  if  they  should  ever  venture  into  this  neck  o' 
woods." 

"And  they  would  put  loggin'  chains  on  Pegasus  and 
make  him  'snake  out'  logs  on  the  skid-road,"  laughed 
Florence. 

They  had  hold  of  each  other's  hands  and  were  going 
along  like  two  happy  children  out  for  a  holiday. 

"Florence,"  he  said  suddenly,  "we  must  not  part  again 
— we  must  belong  to  each  other." 

Her  face  fell,  "O,  Teddy — we  are  both  poor.  I  know 
you  are  capable,  both  head  and  hands,  but  the  poor  work 
ing  man  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  the  rich.  And  they 
would  not  let  me  keep  my  school  if — if  I  married." 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  she  did  not  see  the 
conceited  smile  with  which  he  looked  down  u^on  her 
from  his  height  of  six  feet.  Within  himself  he  said  :  "So, 
so ;  she  has  thought  this  thing  over  seriously ;"  but  aloud 
he  said:  "The  unfortunate  circumstances  surrounding 


262        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

your  father's  death  have  made  you  morbid ;  but  I  will  try 
to  educate  you  out  of  your  gloomy  views,  my  little  girl. 
Let  us  hurry  now ;  I  am  anxious  you  should  see  the  house 
I  have  built." 

He  had  led  her  around  by  a  steep  little  pitch  she  had 
not  climbed  the  last  time;  but  suddenly,  when  she 
reached  the  top,  there  lay  the  little  fairy  castle,  white  and 
shining  under  the  waving,  arching  boughs  of  madrone, 
of  oak,  of  fir  and  laurel ;  while  on  the  north  close-serried 
ranks  of  giant  redwoods  promised  brave  shelter  from 
both  sun  and  storm. 

The  others  soon  came  up,  and  together  they  explored 
farther.  When  they  turned  to  the  eastern  entrance 
Florence  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  The 
veranda  here  ran  close  up  to  a  turret,  from  which  one 
broad  window  overlooked  the  Bay  of  Monterey. 

"It's  like  the  old  home!"  she  cried;  and  then  she  was 
silent,  for  they  were  all  there  together,  staring  at  her. 

As  they  mounted  the  wide  steps  to  the  veranda,  the 
hall  door  opened  and  an  elderly  woman  greeted  them 
cordially,  and  bade  them  welcome.  The  "articheck"  with 
Ma-Maud  on  his  arm  crossed  the  threshold  first,  draw 
ing  the  three  mill  cavaliers  after  them.  Just  now  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Brown  arrived,  and  Ted  offered  his  aid  to  them, 
which  prevented  him  from  joining  those  in  the  house. 
The  Browns,  too,  entered,  and  found  that  good,  kind 
Mrs.  Miller  was  ready  and  willing  to  show  everything 
in  the  house,  even  giving  the  prices  of  things,  to  Mrs. 
Brown's  unspeakable  satisfaction.  To  be  sure,  the  hard 
wood  hall,  without  carpet,  did  not  meet  with  her  ap 
proval,  though  the  mats  and  rugs  went  for  something. 
But  the  drawing  room ! — the  velvet  carpet,  the  furniture 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  263 

covered  with  satin,  the  fine  lace  window  curtains,  the  or 
naments,  the  mirrors,  the  onyx  stands  and  the  grand 
piano — there  was  something  worth  looking  at. 

Then  came  the  dining  room,  and  the  treasures  here  dis 
played  to  them  quite  took  away  the  breath  of  mother  and 
daughter.  Cut  class,  hand  painted  china,  silverware, 
table  linen — it  all  needed  close  inspection,  and  Mrs.  Miller 
seemed  to  have  lots  of  time.  Bill,  who  had  remained 
in  the  parlor  trying  the  tone  of  the  piano  and  working  the 
pedals  as  he  would  the  treadle  of  an  organ,  was  evidently 
enjoying  himself  to  Mrs.  Miller's  content;  but  when  she 
heard  Jim  slowly  climbing  the  stairs  leading  above,  she 
flew  out  of  the  dining  room  and  captured  the  youth  by 
main  force  and  with  the  sweetest  smile.  She  could  not 
think  of  his  going  any  farther  until  he  had  partaken  of 
a  light  collation,  which  would  be  served  as  soon  as  the 
ladies  had  inspected  the  silver.  And  dinner  would  be 
served  later,  as  she  must  insist  on  the  pleasure  of  their 
company  for  the  whole  day. 

Dick,  in  the  meantime,  had  clambered  up  on  the  top  of 
the  balustrade  of  the  veranda,  from  whence  he  was  about 
to  raise  himself  to  the  window  ledge  of  the  broad  turret 
window.  But  the  heel  of  the  gymnast  was  held  as  in  a 
vice  suddenly,  and  the  "articheck"  called  out  cheerily. 

"Hold  on,  Dick;  the  women  are  going  to  have  some 
chicken-fixins  in  the  dining  room,  and  we  want  our  share 
because  Mrs.  Miller  will  have  a  high-toned  dinner  in  the 
afternoon.  She  says  we've  got  to  stay  all  day,  and  I 
think  it's  a  pretty  good  place  to  stay — hey?" 

Pop  Brown  himself  was  snoozing  in  a  corner  of  the 
drawing  room,  after  a  comfortable  drink  Mrs.  Miller  had 
urged  upon  him.  And  while  the  entire  lot  of  aborigines 


264        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCEACKlN 

was  corralled  in  the  house  below,  Ted,  who  had  not  been 
missed  any  more  than  Florence,  led  this  young  lady  up 
stairs  to  point  out  to  her,  from  the  window  in  the  turret 
room,  where  the  City  of  the  Holy  Cross  was  lying, 
gleaming,  light  and  fair,  in  the  distance. 

Florence  could  not  wonder  enough ;  here  again  was  the 
large,  wide  window,  draped  above,  and  admitting  two 
arm  chairs,  a  large  one  and  a  small  one,  into  its  depth — 
just  as  at  home. 

"And  you  like  it?"  asked  Ted. 

"It  is  like  a  dream,"  she  said  uneasily,  holding  the  hand 
he  had  pased  over  her  hair. 

"Good  little  girl,"  he  said;  but  he  no  longer  contented 
himself  with  stroking  her  hair — he  bent  over  and  kissed 
her. 

"Florence,"  he  continued,  "I'm  afraid  I've  lied  to  you." 

She  sprang  up.    "Oh,  Teddy,  you  do  not  love  me?" 

"Teddy,"  he  repeated  after  her;  "You  speak  the  name 
as  if  you  liked  it,  and  I  am  almost  reconciled  to  my 
mother  for  having  given  me  the  name.  Theodore — a  fine 
name  for  a  double-fisted  six-footer  like  myself." 

"But  you  were  not  a  six-footer  when  your  mother  gave 
you  the  name.  She  may  have  considered  you  a  gift  of 
God ;  do  you  not  say  that  women  are  a  bundle  of  illusions 
and  sentimentalities." 

"And  your  Teddy,  I  fear,  is  a  bundle  of  prevarica 
tions."  He  seated  himself  in  the  large  arm  chair,  held 
her  close  to  him  and  pointed  down  to  the  long  slope 
where  the  great,  black  stumps  and  half-burnt  trees  made 
a  blotch  on  the  landscape. 

"I  said  once,  within  your  hearing,  that  my  father  had 
been  the  'boss-faller'  in  this  redwood  region,  and  I  partly 


ONE  DAY  IN  JUNE  265 

spoke  the  truth.  That  is  his  work.  To  be  sure  he  did 
not  'fall'  the  timber  himself,  but  he  had  it  cut,  years  ago, 
and  he  sent  me  up  here  to  see  about  cutting  down  this 
other  tract " 

"O,  Teddy,"  she  could  only  repeat  in  a  maze  of  dread 
and  wonder. 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  a  silly  girl,  who  cries  when  she 
sees  a  redwood  fall,  and  wants  grizzlies,  rattlesnakes, 
deer,  wild  cats,  squirrels  and  the  birds  of  the  air  warned 
off  the  premises  before  the  torch  is  applied  to  burn  out 
the  underbrush,  I  should  have  carried  out  my  father's 
wishes.  But  when  I  had  once  looked  into  your  eyes,  and 
when  I  heard  old  man  Brown  dub  me  Mr.  Robertson,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptaton  of  masquerading  under 
that  name  for  awhile.  I  had  told  him  I  was  John  Rob 
erts'  son ;  but  I  am  thankful  he  misunderstood  me ;  for  I 
wanted  you  to  learn  to  love  me  as  I  loved  you.  When  I 
was  satisfied  of  this  I  went  back  to  my  father,  and  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  give  me  what  I  asked;  the  great  tract  of 
redwood  and  this  house  to  bring  you  to  as  my  wife.  Your 
mother  has  promised  my  mother  that  she  will  live  with 
us  here,  for  mother  thinks  you  are  too  young  to  take 
proper  care  of  her  boy.  Can  you  be  happy  with  her  here?" 

"Happy!  Yes— all  the  days  of  my  life;  but  Teddy- 
one  thing  alone  troubles  me  now;  those  redwoods  that 
your  father  gave  you — will  you  surely  never,  never  cut 
them  down?" 

"I  can't,"  he  said  solemnly.  "I  couldn't  if  I  wanted  to, 
for  I've  joined  the  Sempervirens  Club,  and  I'm  pledged 
to  "save  the  redwoods." 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES? 

Some  people  see  ghosts  in  broad  daylight,  but  I  saw 
mine  by  lamp  light,  one  summer's  eve  between  nine  and 
ten  o'clock. 

It  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  we  had  lately 
moved  there  because  the  street  where  we  had  been  living 
had  become  a  business  street  and  the  rents  had  grown 
too  high  for  our  slender  means;  and  we  just  happened  on 
the  place. 

Only  we  two  youngest  were  left  in  the  home  nest  with 
mother;  my  sister,  about  eleven,  and  myself  two  years 
older;  and  no  matter  where  mother  went,  we  two  were 
always  by  her  side.  It  was  springtime,  and  we  girls, 
with  an  inborn  love  for  trees  and  flowers  and  grassy 
meads,  besought  mother  to  go  into  the  country  with  us, 
for  the  summer  at  least.  The  house  agent  to  whom  we 
went,  took  our  measure  with  a  politely  insolent  air; 
asked  us,  in  a  by-the-way  kind  of  tone,  where  we  resided 
at  present,  and  when  mother  gave  him  street  and  number, 
and  mentioned  the  name  of  one  or  two  neighbors,  he 
dropped  the  insolent  tone  and  grew  benevolent  and  con 
fidential. 

Though  mother  hesitated,  Mr.  Tully  knew  what  pow 
erful  allies  he  had  in  us  two  girls,  and  after  describing  the 
large  garden  with  trees  and  shrubs,  he  seized  his  hat  and 
said  we  had  better  see  it  before  some  one  came  who 
wanted  a  suburban  residence.  It  was  long  before  the  era 
of  electric  roads  or  even  street  cars;  but  we  were  quite 
satisfied  with  the  big  yellow  omnibus  that  carried  us  out 
till  we  had  only  a  short  distance  farther  to  walk. 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          267 

My  sister  and  I  were  wild  with  delight  when  he 
stopped  at  the  gate  in  a  tolerably  high  paling  fence,  di 
rectly  opposite  to  the  entrance  door  of  the  house,  a  white 
cottage  with  two  windows  on  the  right  of  the  door — north 
of  it — and  an  odd  little  nook  at  this  same  end  of  the 
house,  which  looked  as  if  it  ought  to  have  been  a  corner 
porch  or  a  balcony,  because  the  wall  of  another  room, 
back  of  the  parlor,  projected  out  just  far  enough  to  form 
the  correct  angle.  The  flower  garden  in  front  was  only 
a  narrow  strip ;  but  lilac  bushes  and  roses  were  full  of 
promise,  and  a  border  of  daisies,  violets  and  primulas  in 
bloom,  ran  along  under  the  parlor  windows  up  to  the 
fence  which  cut  off  the  garden  suddenly  from  the  little 
space  I  spoke  of  before,  where  I  thought  belonged  a 
porch  or  a  balcony.  This  little  piece,  longer  than  it  was 
wide,  was  bare  except  for  a  scraggy  snowball  bush  and 
a  piece  of  sickly  ivy. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  house,  south  of  it,  was  a  large 
grass  plot,  with  groups  of  poplar  and  locust  trees,  and 
we  girls  were  not  so  old  but  that  we  sighed  for  a  swing 
among  these  trees.  Mother,  however,  was  not  so  enthu 
siastic  over  the  place.  I  saw  her  shake  her  head  once  or 
twice,  when  my  sister  and  I  were  in  the  greatest  raptures. 
And  what  beautiful  furniture  there  was  in  the  parlor  1 
Velvet  carpet,  and  curtains  of  brocaded  silk  in  dark 
green,  with  a  brighter  tint  here  and  there,  and  the  furni 
ture  covered  with  dark  green  satin.  On  the  mantle  of 
white  marble  were  Parian  vases,  with  bisque  ornaments 
between,  as  was  the  fashion  those  days.  But  there  was 
no  broad  mirror  here,  as  there  should  have  been;  and 
the  pier-glass  between  the  two  windows  was  covered  en 
tirely  with  a  thin  pink  gauze. 


268        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

On  the  opposite  wall  hung  three  pictures  in  handsome 
gold  frames,  the  one  in  the  center  containing  an  oval, 
a  child's  form.  The  face  of  its  mother  was  of  fresh,  pleas 
ing  beauty ;  the  father's  face  had  an  ugly  frown.  Above 
the  center  table  hung  a  chandelier,  and  Mr.  Tully  re 
quested  that  it  should  not  be  lighted.  Mother  assured 
him  that  the  room  would  be  but  little  used,  to  my  great 
regret,  for  I  thought  it  charming,  in  spite  of  the  heavy 
curtains  that  made  it  rather  dark. 

"But  here,"  I  said,  "is  another  window" ;  and  I  went  up 
to  a  long  French  window,  over  which  the  rouleau  was 
drawn  to  the  very  ground,  and  the  curtain  fell  in  extra 
heavy  folds.  "We  can  open  this  and  step  right  out  on 
the  porch — oh !  I  know — that  is  the  place  where  the  bal 
cony  ought  to  be." 

But  Mr.  Tully  had  arrested  my  hand.  "You  must  not 
try  to  open  it,"  he  said  hastily,  "you  see  it  is  fastened 
down.  Come  and  see  the  rest  of  the  house." 

I  was  on  my  guard  after  this;  I  had  seen  mother's 
brows  contract,  and  one  more  prohibitory  remark  might 
decide  her  against  taking  the  house.  The  dining  room 
was  equally  pretty,  was  lighter  and  more  cheerful,  and 
Mr.  Tully  made  us  girls  understand  that  we  could  pull 
things  to  pieces  here  if  we  wanted  to.  There  were  pleas 
ant,  cozy  rooms  enough  for  our  own  furniture  to  fill,  so 
that  the  bedroom  in  which  the  little  child  had  died  would 
never  be  missed. 

Mr.  Tully,  however,  led  us  into  this  room,  too,  and  the 
first  thing  I  noticed  was  a  long  French  window,  similar 
to  that  in  the  parlor,  and  giving  out  on  the  same  queer 
space  where  the  balcony  should  have  been.  Without 
a  word,  mother  saw  to  it  that  the  windows  were  well 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          269 

fastened,  and  after  leaving  the  room,  handed  Mr.  Tully 
the  key,  requesting  him  to  take  it  with  him.  Then  she 
requested  that  Mr.  Tully  should  lock  up  the  parlor  also ; 
but  this  brought  violent  protests.  From  myself  in  the 
first  place,  from  Mr.  Tully  in  a  milder  form.  He  was  so 
glad  to  know  his  friend's  house  was  in  such  good  care,  he 
said,  that  he  could  not  bear  to  deprive  the  young  ladies 
of  the  use  of  the  parlor. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  took  possession.  Mr.  Tully 
was  on  hand;  and  before  he  left  he  pointed  to  a  large, 
pretentious-looking  house,  with  a  cupola,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  This  house  stood  back  in  well-kept 
grounds,  and  the  gate,  with  its  tall  posts,  must  have  been 
just  in  the  middle  of  the  block,  as  the  street  lamp  stood 
right  in  front  of  it;  for  although  the  street  had  only  re 
cently  been  cut  through  what  had  been  the  residence 
grounds  of  one  of  the  old  St.  Louis  families,  who  owned 
slaves  enough  to  keep  the  extensive  gardens  in  condition 
the  thoroughfare  was,  nevertheless,  macadamized  and 
paved,  and  lighted  by  lamps  for  a  block  or  two  farther 
down.  Pointing  to  this  house  then,  Mr.  Tully  said: 

"Mr.  St.  Denis  bought  this  place  of  the  gentleman 
who  owned  that,  also.  I  will  ask  the  old  darkey  who  has 
always  been  gardener  here,  to  come  over  occasionally  to 
look  after  your  flower  beds.  The  mansion  is  at  present 
occupied  as  a  fashionable  boarding  house,  and  Pompey 
is  a  kind  of  major-domo  on  the  premises.  He's  a  free 
nigger,  but  he  knows  his  place." 

Mr.  Tully  sailed  across  the  street,  after  bidding  us 
adieu,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Pompey  stuck  his  head 
in  at  the  door,  scraping  his  foot  out  behind,  and  tugging 
at  the  front  of  his  grizzled  wool  when  he  saw  mother. 


270        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

"Marse  Tully  said  you  done  come  here  to  live,  Ma'm," 
he  said,  politely.  "Anything  I  can  do  for  you  or  the 
young  ladies?" 

"Thank  you,  Uncle";  mother  replied;  "the  men  have 
placed  all  the  furniture." 

"My  name's  Pomp,  Ma'm.  I's  a  free  nigger,  and  I  laid 
out  these  grounds  for  Marse  Henry  Gratiot,  years  ago, 
and  always  took  care  of  'em ;  and  when  Marse  St.  Denis 
bought  this  place,  I  took  care  of  it,  too.  Would  the 
young  ladies  like  some  fuchsias  and  heliotropes  set  out  in 
the  garden  here?  I's  got  some  over  in  the  hot  house." 

Mother  said  it  must  have  been  a  beautiful  place  when 
the  Gratiots  lived  here ;  to  which  Pomp  replied  that  they 
had  not  lived  here  of  late  years. 

"Marse  Edward,"  he  went  on,  "that  is  Mr.  St.  Denis, 
kept  this  place  for  ever  so  many  years;  the  Belvidere — 
did  never  you  hear  of  it?  A  mighty  fine  place  it  was 
while  Marse  Edward  was  landlord,  and  before  the  streets 
were  cut  through  and  it  was  divided  up.  But  the  St. 
Denises  never  lived  in  the  Belvidere,  the  big  house ;  they 
always  lived  in  this  cottage,  you  know.  The  madam 
never  went  near  the  other  house,  in  fact.  We  had  a  fine 
French  cook  over  there;  she  was  an  Irish  woman,  and 
her  old  mother  lives  down  the  street  here  a  piece  now. 
There  were  plenty  of  darkies,  young  and  old,  to  wait  on 
the  company,  and  I  kinder  looked  after  the  whole  lot  of 
'em.  I's  a  old  man  now,  and  I'll  never  see  such  times 
again  as  we  had  here  then." 

Mother  had  listened  attentively,  but  with  contracted 
brows,  and  when  Pompey  got  through,  she  asked  him  to 
look  after  things  on  the  place  a  little,  which  seemed 
greatly  to  please  the  kindly  old  negro. 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          271 

The  day  was  spent  in  setting  things  to  rights  in  the 
rooms  we  meant  to  occupy ;  and  in  the  cool  of  the  even 
ing  we  sat  out  on  the  front  doorsteps.  The  garden  here, 
as  I  said  before,  was  but  narrow,  and  the  gate  was  not 
twenty  feet  away  from  the  stoop;  and  as  my  sister  and 
I  had  been  spending  the  day  in  making  enjoyable  discov 
eries  everywhere,  we  now  looked  around  to  see  what 
we  could  discover  without  leaving  the  doorsteps. 

Suddenly  I  caught  sight  of  a  most  striking  figure  com 
ing  up  the  pavement  from  the  direction  south  of  us, 
opposite  to  the  direction  in  which  the  omnibus  had 
brought  us  in  the  morning.  The  woman  was  tall,  though 
leaning  on  a  stick  or  crutch  for  support ;  quite  handsome 
she  must  have  been  in  her  younger  days,  though  there 
was  something  about  her  forbidding  rather  than  com 
manding.  She  looked  imposing,  however,  in  spite  of  a 
frilled  cap,  a  rusty  black  gown,  and  an  old  shawl  twisted 
around  her  shoulders.  As  she  moved  forward  slowly, 
evidently  lame  in  one  foot,  I  could  hear  her  mumbling 
to  herself  as  very  old  people  are  apt  to  do.  I  called 
mother's  attention  to  the  woman,  who,  in  the  meantime, 
had  come  almost  opposite  to  the  gate. 

Looking  up,  the  woman  started  back  with  a  cry  of  dis 
may,  but  recovering  herself  quickly,  she  brought  her 
stick  down  on  the  pavement  with  a  smart  blow  and 
leaned  on  it  with  both  hands,  while  she  eyed  us  keenly, 
but  not  impertinently.  Her  words,  at  least,  went  to  show 
that  all  impertinence  was  out  of  the  question. 

"Ah,  woe  is  me — woe  is  me !"  she  muttered  to  herself. 
"And  have  I  kept  my  trust  so  badly  to  my  poor  dead 
child?  Life  in  this  house  where  only  death  should 
reign!" 


272         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

I  had  started  up  in  fright,  but  mother  held  out  her  hand 
to  keep  me  quiet ;  and  the  queer  old  woman,  in  a  perfectly 
rational  manner,  and  with  an  accent  that  was  just  brogue 
enough  to  make  it  pathetic,  addressed  mother: 

"And  sure  then,  my  good  lady,  I'm  not  out  of  my  mind 
as  your  children  do  be  thinking;  it  is  surprised  I  am  to 
see  any  one  living  in  this  house  again." 

"Why  so?"  asked  mother,  quickly.  "We  rented  the 
house  for  the  summer  and  may  remain  through  the  win 
ter,  unless  Mr.  St.  Denis  should  return  from  France  and 
come  to  live  here  again." 

"Edward  St.  Denis  come  here  to  live  again?  Never 
in  that  house — never  in  that  house!"  And  raising  her 
stick  as  if  it  had  been  the  wand  of  an  evil  fairy,  she 
shook  it  at  the  house  above  our  heads,  muttering  impre 
cations  in  her  weird  way  till  I  trembled  with  fear  and  ex 
citement. 

A  moment  later  she  had  hobbled  on  past  the  house 
and  up  the  street  till  she  turned  the  next  corner.  As  a 
child  even  I  had  been  nervous — although  this  word  had 
never  formed  a  place  in  mother's  vocabulary — and 
mother,  to  divert  my  thoughts,  perhaps,  proposed  that 
we,  too,  should  walk  to  the  corner  of  the  street  to  see 
where  the  queer  Meg  Merrilies  had  gone.  In  sauntering 
along  I  saw  that  the  piece  of  ground  adjoining  ours,  was 
merely  a  grassy  field  in  an  enclosure,  without  any  build 
ing  on  it,  whatever.  There  were  groups  of  trees,  as  on 
our  grass  plot;  and  in  the  background  I  noticed  a  little 
sheet  of  water  overhung  by  a  circle  of  weeping  willows, 
their  heavy  boughs  almost  touching  the  dark  surface.  It 
was  evidently  part  and  parcel  of  the  same  estate  on  which 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES  273 
stood  our  cottage  and  the  Belvidere,  now  a  fashionable 
boarding  house. 

"There  is  Meg  Merrilies  now,"  my  sister  pointed  to  her ; 
"and  she  is  leading  a  cow.  No  doubt  she  keeps  her  on 
this  grass." 

"Meg  Merrilies  with  the  cow"  was  more  sociable.  In 
response  to  our  queries  she  said : 

"I'm  a  poor  widow  woman,  and  old;  and  all  I  have  is 
what  my  granddaughter  earns  and  what  I  can  get  by 
selling  milk.  But  there  are  not  many  neighbors  to  sell 
milk  to,  and  I  cannot  work  on  account  of  my  lame  foot ; 
so  it's  a  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet." 

She  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  pavement  leaning  against 
the  cow  that  stood  in  the  street,  and  I  said  how  gentle  the 
cow  was.  The  frown  left  the  old  woman's  brow  at  last ; 
and  before  we  parted  we  had  made  two  bargains  with 
her ;  we  were  to  be  supplied  with  milk  from  her  cow,  and 
Nora,  her  granddaughter,  was  to  come  every  Saturday 
and  Monday  to  do  washing  and  scrubbing  at  our  house. 

Nora  proved  to  be  a  big,  stout  girl,  though  hardly  as 
old  as  I  was.  She  was  thoroughly  good-natured  and 
childlike,  and  not  above  playing  a  game  of  marbles  with 
my  sister,  when  her  work  was  done.  The  fact  is,  they 
soon  acted  like  a  pair  of  tomboys,  stretched  out  on  their 
stomachs  on  a  nice,  level  piece  of  ground  near  the  back 
porch,  kicking  up  their  heels  and  shouting  with  glee.  As 
for  myself,  I  had  never  played  a  game  of  ball  or  marbles 
in  my  life,  and  I  generally  sought  the  precincts  of  the 
parlor  that  so  enchanted  me.  It  was  simply  perfect,  I 
thought ;  I  had  never  seen  anything  finer.  Even  the  dim 
light  suited  me  as  it  sifted  in  through  the  heavy  green 
curtains,  and  I  used  to  bury  myself  in  a  fanteuil  that 


274        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

stood  directly  opposite  to  the  long  pierglass.  Not  for  the 
purpose  of  gazing  at  myself,  though,  for  the  heavy  center 
table,  with  its  gold  embroidered  cover,  just  under  the 
chandelier,  stood  between  the  glass  and  me;  and  the 
glass,  moreover,  was  covered  with  a  thin  pink  gauze. 
But  I  kept  gazing  all  around  the  room,  still  discovering 
some  new  beauty.  The  room  was  longer  than  it  was 
wide.  Entering  from  the  hallway — the  only  entrance  or 
exit  to  the  room  now — you  looked  straight  against  the 
north  wall,  which  was  narrow  and  entirely  taken  up  by 
the  fireplace  and  the  French  window  nearest  the  front 
wall  of  the  house,  in  which  were  the  two  windows  be 
tween  which  the  pierglass  hung. 

"But  there  ought  to  be  a  looking  glass  over  the  mantle- 
piece,  too,"  I  mused;  and  my  eyes  traversed  the  small 
space  between  the  mantle  and  the  long  French  window, 
and  then  traveled  over  the  corner  till  they  reached  the 
wall  close  to  the  window  on  the  left  of  the  pierglass, 
where  they  were  caught  by  something  I  had  never  seen 
there  before,  and  which  filled  me  with  such  horror  that  I 
sprang  up  and  made  for  the  door. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  mother  was  just  passing 
through  the  hall,  and  she  asked  me  what  was  the  mat 
ter. 

"Look!"  I  burst  out—  "Do  you  see  that  mark  there? 
It  is  just  as  if  a  man,  struck  to  death,  had  leaned  against 
the  wall  for  support  and  had  fallen  forward — like  this. 
The  paper  is  torn,  and  there  is  a  smear  of  blood  on  it — 
is  there  not?" 

Mother  quietly  approached  the  spot,  looked  at  it  at 
tentively  and  then  led  me  out  of  the  room. 

"You  are  always  seeing  ghosts,"  she  said,  impatiently. 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          275 

"There  is  nothing  there  at  all ;  but  this  is  the  last  of  that 
fine  parlor."  And  she  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key 
in  her  pocket. 

"Meg  Merrilies  with  the  cow" — in  common  life  called 
Mrs.  MacNamara,  had  fallen  into  a  way  of  leaning  over 
our  front  gate  of  an  evening  on  her  way  to  bringing  home 
her  bovine  friend.  We  were  always  out  on  the  front 
door  steps  as  soon  as  it  was  cool  enough,  and  as  the 
street  was  as  quiet  as  any  country  lane,  we  had  many  a 
chat  with  her.  The  main  thoroughfare  from  the  town  of 
Carondelet  lay  one  block  to  the  east,  and  only  occasion 
ally  did  carriage  or  buggy  pass  this  street,  while  foot- 
passengers  were  still  more  rare. 

According  to  Mrs.  MacNamara's  story  there  had  been 
more  life  here  before  the  street  was  opened,  when  the 
young  bloods  with  their  fine  horses  and  dashing  com 
panions  had  thronged  the  grounds  of  the  Belvidere  es 
tablishment.  Laughter  and  song  could  be  heard  in  the 
shady  walks  all  day  long,  and  at  night  there  were  danc 
ing  and  music — not  to  forget  the  grand  suppers  served, 
and  for  the  cooking  of  which  her  daughter,  their 
"French"  cook,  had  become  famous.  The  daughter's 
husband,  Nora's  father,  had  been  porter  and  night 
watchman  and,  as  she  hinted,  had  been  Mr.  Edward's 
right  hand,  as  her  daughter  had  been  devoted  to  Mrs.  St. 
Denis,  though  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  anything  going 
on  in  this  cottage,  where  the  family  had  always  lived. 

"And  both  Nora's  parents  are  dead?"  asked  mother, 
one  day,  when  she  spoke  of  Nora  as  an  orphan. 

"That's  more  than  I  know,"  the  old  woman  answered 
with  a  frown.  "I  buried  my  daughter  a  year  ago,  soon 
after  the  St.  Denises  left  for  France.  Mrs.  St.  Denis 


276        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

faded  away  like  a  flower,  after  the  death  of  her  baby,  and 
my  daughter — rest  her  soul — used  to  sit  up  with  her  at 
night,  after  her  hard  day's  work,  just  to  keep  the  poor 
lady  from  grieving  her  heart  out,  till  they  could  get 
ready  to  go.  But  as  for  Nora's  father,  bad  luck  to  him! 
he  left  the  country  before  the  St.  Denises  did." 

In  the  meantime  Pompey  did  not  neglect  us.  He  had 
brought  the  heliotropes  and  fuchsias,  according  to  prom 
ise,  and  I  had  come  into  the  front  garden  with  him  to  see 
him  plant  them.  Deliberating  upon  the  best  place  to  put 
them,  I  suggested  the  little  odd  corner  I  spoke  of  before, 
the  space  where  I  thought  a  balcony  should  have  been, 
and  upon  which  opened  the  nailed-down  French  window 
in  the  parlor,  and  the  corresponding  one  in  the  bedroom, 
where  the  little  child  had  died. 

"This  snowball  bush  will  never  thrive  here,"  I  argued ; 
"nor  that  ivy,  though  this  is  the  north  side  of  the  house. 
Perhaps  you  did  not  spade  up  the  garden  this  spring,"  I 
suggested,  with  the  smartness  of  my  thirteen  years. 

"No,  miss,  no;"  he  answered  in  evident  trepidation. 
"Dunno  nothing  'bout  the  garden  in  the  corner  here; 
never  planted  them  things  thar;  Marse  Edward  used  to 
have  notions  of  his  own." 

"It  is  a  pity,"  I  went  on,  "that  they  did  not  build  a  little 
balcony  here ;  it  is  just  the  nook  for  it." 

"Was  one  thar,  Miss;  but  Marse  Edward  pulled  it 
down,  and  Johnsing,  Nora's  father,  he  planted  them 
things  thar."  He  seemed  quite  excited  over  it  in  his  an 
ger — which  I  fancied  he  held  against  "Johnsing"  for  in 
terfering  with  his  gardening  monopoly. 

The  fact  of  mother  having  locked  up  the  parlor  soon 
came  to  the  ears  of  Meg  Merrilies,  through  her  grand- 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          277 

daughter,  and  the  old  woman  seemed  very  much  pleased 
with  this  deed. 

"It's  right  ye  are,  my  good  lady,"  she  applauded  moth 
er's  action.  "  'Tis  a  fine  room,  but  not  the  place  for  a 
young  girl  to  sit  and  dream  in."  And  then  it  came  out 
that  during  Belvidere  days  that  lovely  room,  in  this 
homelike  cottage,  had  been  a  quiet  little  gambling  saloon. 

After  this  disclosure,  I  knew  that  the  days  we  should 
spend  here  were  numbered,  but  did  not  think  how  few 
they  were. 

It  was  while  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of 
jessamine,  and  the  roses  were  still  in  full  bloom,  that  we 
sat  one  evening  as  usual  on  the  front  doorstep.  At  the  end 
of  days  when  Nora  had  washed  or  cleaned  up  house  for 
us,  she  remained  for  supper  and  rarely  went  home  before 
bedtime.  As  it  was  after  nine  o'clock,  she  was  reluc 
tantly  tearing  herself  away  from  her  tomboy  playmate, 
and  stood  behind  my  sister,  her  back  to  the  house  under 
the  parlor  window.  My  sister,  too,  sat  with  her  face  to 
the  street,  as  did  mother  and  I,  but  on  the  other  side  of 
the  doorway.  There  was  no  light  in  the  house,  but  the 
street  lamp  in  front  of  the  former  Belvidere,  now  the 
boarding  house,  across  the  way,  made  it  quite  light,  and 
there  were  more  street  lamps  up  and  down  the  thor 
oughfare  for  some  distance.  The  night  was  still,  and 
we  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  people  that  went  to 
the  boarding  house  and  from  it.  I  was  sitting  in  front 
of  mother,  one  step  lower  down,  with  my  elbow  on  her 
knee,  and  the  start  I  gave  caused  her  to  look  up  and  say, 
apprehensively,  "What's  the  matter?" 

"Look,  look — "  I  whispered,  "see  that  man — with  a 


278        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

glazed  cap  on — don't  you  see  him?     Oh,  now,  he  is 
gone!" 

Mother  had  risen  hastily,  and  looked  with  all  her  eyes 
to  where  I  pointed;  but  she  only  shook  her  head;  she 
had  had  her  own  trouble  with  me  before. 

"I  see  nothing,"  she  said  positively.  "You  fell  asleep 
and  you  were  dreaming." 

"No";  I  said,  just  as  positively;  "Amy,  Nora — did  you 
not  seen  the  man  ?  He  came  from  there" — I  pointed  north 
— "passed  by  the  gate  and  walked  about  twenty  steps, 
and  then  he  was  gone." 

But  they  both  laughed  at  me.  "You  had  gone  to 
sleep",  my  sister  said.  "If  anyone  had  passed  we  should 
have  heard  him  if  we  had  not  seen  him,  unless  it  was  a 
ghost." 

And  as  the  word  was  spoken,  Nora  said,  with  a  quick 
start,  "I  must  be  going  now;  grandmother  will  be  look 
ing  for  me",  and  away  she  darted. 

Mother  wanted  that  we,  too,  should  go  in  and  go  to 
bed.  But  she  found  me  suddenly,  and  not  for  the  first 
time,  stubborn  and  intractable,  for  I  did  not  know  enough 
to  know  that  I  was  on  the  verge  of  a  fit  of  hysterics.  I 
would  not  go  to  bed ;  I  would  not  go  into  the  house ;  no — 
no —  no !  I  cried  louder  and  louder.  And  here  came  help 
for  me.  Mrs.  MacNamara,  every  inch  Meg  Merrilies 
again,  hobbling  up  as  if  the  wings  of  Mercury  had  been 
fastened  to  her  stick.  Nora  opened  the  gate  for  her,  and 
again  she  raised  her  wand  and  shook  it  at  the  house, 
wierdly  and  threateningly. 

"It's  come  at  last— at  last!"  she  cried.  "The  place  is 
cursed!  Murder  was  done  here,  and  the  house  is 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          279 

haunted !"  Then  controlling  herself  forcibly,  she  turned 
to  me. 

"And  was  it  that  poor  little  baby's  wraith  ye  saw,"  she 
asked,  "or  was  it  the  shadow  of  the  murdered  man?" 

"The  man !"  I  cried  eagerly,  "the  man." 

But  mother  interposed,  laying  her  hand  on  my  arm,  to 
lead  me  away,  and  she  said  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way,  "Come,  Mrs.  MacNamara,  don't  make  the  girl  be 
lieve  she  has  seen  a  ghost." 

Meg  Merrilies  too  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm. 

"Speak,  girl,  what  was  he  like?"  And  mother  herself 
was  carried  away  for  the  moment  and  listened  intently 
to  what  I  said. 

"The  man  was  not  very  tall;  his  head  was  only  well 
above  the  fence,  and  he  had  on  a  glazed  cap " 

"But  his  hair?"  urged  the  old  woman  breathlessly. 

"There  were  brown  curls  under  his  cap,"  I  answered,- 
and  she  swayed  to  and  fro,  leaning  on  her  stick  as  she 
muttered  to  herself: 

"  'Tis  he —  'tis  he ;  poor  Tom  Lavigne.  And  how  was 
he  dressed?"  she  persisted;  and  without  the  least  hesi 
tation,  I  replied : 

"He  had  on  a  short,  loose  coat,  black;  but  his  panta 
loons  were  light  gray  cloth." 

"But  child,"  said  mother,  with  one  more  attempt  to 
make  the  matter  a  commonplace  one,  "did  you  ever  see 
this  man  before?" 

"Yes,  mother ;  I  saw  him  in  the  looking  glass  the  day  I 
told  you  about  the  smear  of  blood  on  the  wall  paper  in 
the  parlor." 


280        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

Then  mother,  too,  turned  pale,  though  she  still  said  I 
had  been  dreaming,  and  that  Mrs.  MacNamara  was  child 
ish.  Nevertheless,  I  carried  my  point,  which  was  that 
Nora  stay  with  us  overnight,  and  that  we  all  four  sleep 
in  one  room  together.  How  the  others  slept,  I  don't 
know;  but  I  fell  at  once  into  the  deep  lethargic  sleep 
which  was  always  brought  on  by  fright  or  excitement, 
and  which  mother  so  dreaded  to  see. 

In  the  bright  light  of  the  morning  I  was  myself  half 
inclined  to  believe  I  had  only  dreamed  about  the  man 
with  the  glazed  cap.  As  mother  said  nothing,  I  too,  was 
careful  not  to  mention  the  subject,  for  oh!  I  did  so  love 
that  place  and  wanted  to  stay  there.  I  noticed  that 
Pompey,  when  he  came  in  the  course  of  the  day  to  see 
if  we  wanted  anything  from  downtown,  was  intercepted 
by  mother  and  did  not  get  a  glimpse  of  me.  Brave  as  I 
was  all  through  the  day,  my  spirits  sank  as  night  ap 
proached,  and  when  Mrs.  MacNamara  passed  on  her 
way  to  bring  home  her  cow,  I  asked  her  to  let  Nora  come 
over  in  the  evening,  to  which  she  readily  consented, 
adding : 

"And  I'll  be  coming  after  her  when  it  is  time  to  go 
home." 

That  was  what  I  had  wanted,  to  have  them  both  there, 
for  I  was  beginning  to  feel  horribly  afraid.  Mother  said 
she  had  letters  to  write  and  we  had  better  stay  in  the 
house ;  but  it  was  so  uncomfortably  hot  that  I  would  not 
agree;  so  we  all  sat  out  on  the  doosteps  again,  and 
when  the  grandmother  came,  Nora  was  told  to  bring  out 
a  chair  for  her.  The  chair,  I  remember,  stood  so  that 
she  could  look  down  the  street,  toward  the  north,  while  I 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          281 

kept  my  face  turned  southward — I  did  not  want  to  see 
anything  coming. 

But  I  had  to;  in  the  midst  of  a  conversation,  unflag 
ging  as  it  was  strained,  I  was  forced  to  turn  my  head 
and  look  down  the  street  northward,  and  with  a  startled 
cry  I  hid  my  eyes  a  moment  in  mother's  lap.  Only  a  mo 
ment  though,  for  the  figure,  which  seemed  to  rise  out  of 
the  little  dreary  corner  where  the  balcony  had  been, 
when  I  first  saw  it,  had  not  yet  reached  the  gate  when  I 
looked  again,  and  while  my  eyes  were  uncontrollably 
drawn  upon  it,  the  old  woman's  eyes  were  just  as  steadily 
fixed  on  mine. 

It  was  the  same  figure ;  the  head  with  the  glazed  cap 
was  just  above  the  tall  paling  fence ;  the  face  I  could  not 
see ;  but  brown  curls  clustered  about  the  head,  and  the 
dress  consisted  of  a  loose,  black  coat,  and  pantaloons  of 
a  light  gray  color. 

Like  one  frenzied,  I  shook  mother's  knees.  "Don't 
you  see  it?"  I  asked  again  and  again,  taking  no  heed  of 
her  replies  or  her  attempts  to  quiet  me.  "There — there ! 
Now  it  is  gone — just  as  it  went  last  night." 

Both  mother  and  Mrs.  MacNamara  tried  to  reason 
with  me,  and  they  got  me  inside  at  last;  but  my  screams 
rang  through  the  house,  and  Pompey  appeared  as 
promptly  on  the  scene  as  if  he  had  known  what  was  to 
happen.  Not  only  Pompey  came,  but  the  landlady  of  the 
boarding  house,  and  she  insisted  that  we  should  all  three 
come  to  her  house  for  the  night.  I  clung  to  her  at  once, 
and  while  Nora  and  mother  were  gathering  up  what  was 
needed  for  the  night,  I  ran  eagerly  across  the  street  and 
was  not  satisfied  till  she  had  landed  me  in  the  second 
story,  in  a  little  room  clear  on  the  other  side  of  the  house. 


282        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

When  mother  came,  Mrs.  MacNamara  came  with  her, 
and  as  I  declared  myself  satisfied  only  if  all  three  re 
mained  by  my  bedside,  the  landlady  listened  as  intently 
to  Meg  Merrilies'  half-whispered  story  as  did  mother, 
who  thought  me  fast  asleep. 

Pompey  had  gone  in  search  of  Mr.  Tully,  and  while 
waiting  for  his  arrival,  she  told  of  the  life  poor  Mrs.  St. 
Denis  had  passed  in  that  cottage,  where,  in  spite  of  all 
her  pleading,  her  husband  had  established  his  gambling 
den,  deeming  it  safer  than  in  any  part  of  the  Belvidere. 
Of  the  young  men  who  passed  in  and  out  of  that  part  of 
the  cottage,  Madame  had  seen  but  few ;  but  among  them 
was  a  French  Creole  from  New  Orleans,  to  whom  she 
could  speak  in  her  native  tongue.  Her  husband  had 
watched  them  with  an  eager  eye ;  and  when,  soon  after  the 
baby's  birth,  Tom  Lavigne  was  missing,  only  those  who 
were  most  intimately  acquainted  with  affairs  at  the  Bel 
videre,  had  any  suspicion  of  foul  play.  The  young  man 
visited  the  city  only  periodically,  being  clerk  on  a  large 
Mississippi  river  steamer;  and  often  the  gay  cavaliers 
who  had  played  cards  all  the  way  from  New  Orleans  up 
to  St.  Louis,  would  come  to  this  place  to  finish  the  game. 

When  his  brother  officers  of  the  "Grand  Turk"  failed 
in  their  search  for  him,  they  were  convinced  that  he  had 
missed  his  footing  on  the  gang  plank  some  dark  night 
and  had  found  his  grave  in  the  water.  It  was  long  before 
the  time  when  railroads  were  running,  and  it  was  noth 
ing  unusual  for  steamboats  to  lie  at  the  St.  Louis  levee 
for  two  or  three  miles  up  and  down  the  river,  not  in  one 
line  only,  but  two  or  three  of  them,  anchored  to  each 
other,  reaching  far  out  into  the  stream,  and  any  corpse 
might  float  undiscovered,  for  a  number  of  weeks. 


CAN  DEAD  MEN  TELL  NO  TALES          283 

Nora's  mother,  on  her  deathbed,  had  begged  her 
mother  to  see  that  no  one  occupied  the  house.  From 
what  she  had  learned  through  the  ravings  of  the  un 
happy  young  wife,  the  woman  believed  that  Tom  La- 
vigne  had  been  decoyed  into  the  parlor  one  night  after 
the  others  had  left,  had  been  struck  down  from  behind 
and  the  body  hidden  away  in  some  corner  near  the  house. 
She  insisted,  indeed,  that  it  was  buried  under  the  bal 
cony,  which  St.  Denis  had  pulled  down  under  the  flimsy 
excuse  that  some  one  might  watch  at  the  French  window 
and  discover  the  secret  of  the  gaming  table.  Her  delecta 
ble  son-in-law,  Johnson,  had  no  doubt  been  given  ample 
means  to  clear  out,  Mrs.  McNamara  thought;  for 
he  went  away  before  the  St.  Denises  did.  Neither  she 
nor  Pompey  had  ever  believed  that  Edward  St.  Denis 
intended  to  come  back  to  this  place ;  and  she  went  so  far 
as  to  say  that  she  believed  the  villain  had  murdered  his 
own  wife  long  before  this. 

I  dropped  off  to  sleep  at  last,  and  slept  soundly  till 
morning.  There  was  already  a  carriage  at  the  door  to 
carry  us  to  the  house  of  a  friend  living  at  the  other  end 
of  town.  Early  as  we  were,  the  guardians  of  the  public 
peace  and  safety  were  still  earlier;  and  no  matter  how 
closely  mother  tried  to  watch  me,  I  learned  before  I 
entered  the  carriage  that  they  had  found  the  body  of  the 
murdered  man.  They  had  torn  away  the  flooring  of  the 
bedroom  where  the  little  child  had  died,  and  they  found 
the  body  where  the  ragged  snowball  bush  and  the  sickly 
ivy  were  growing  above  poor  Tom  Lavinge,  and  they 
found  the  glazed  cap  in  that  unhallowed  grave  with  him. 


ON  THE  STROKE  OF  XII 

My  belief  that  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 
I  have  inherited  from  my  mother,  though  she  was  neither 
superstitious  nor  did  she  believe  in  ghosts — as  I  do.  The 
episode  I  am  about  to  write  of  here,  she  has  related  to  me 
more  than  once,  adding  always — 

"To  me  there  has  been  something  gruesome  in  the  mid 
night  hour — just  on  the  strike  of  twelve — ever  since  that 
time." 

And  strange  to  say,  mother,  too,  breathed  her  last  just 
on  the  stroke  of  twelve. 

My  grandfather,  Colonel  and  Commandant  of  the  old 
Fortress  at  Ziegenhain,  in  Hesse,  was  not  at  all  an  aged 
man  when  he  died,  my  mother,  his  oldest  child,  being  only 
just  in  her  teens.  Father  and  daughter  were  devotedly 
attached  to  each  other,  and  when,  in  the  winter  of  1817, 
a  complication  of  heart  and  lung  trouble  grew  upon  him, 
he  used  to  say  to  his  daughter,  Lottchen — 

"Only  have  a  little  patience,  child,  when  springtime 
comes  I  shall  get  a  long  furlough  and  we  will  travel — 
travel  clear  into  Switzerland  and  Italy." 

His  daughter,  Lottchen — my  mother — in  the  mean 
time  sat  patiently  in  his  room  with  him,  reading  to  him 
or  writing  for  him,  after  he  had  received  and  dismissed 
his  Adjutant  in  the  morning,  offering  her  strong  young 
arm  for  his  support  when  he  grew  restless  and  desired  to 
walk  through  the  long  galleries  of  the  ancient  pile  of 
rocks  he  lived  in.  For  he  was  only  confined  to  his  arm 
chair,  as  yet,  and  that  only  periodically,  and  his  body 


ON  THE  STROKE  OF  XII  285 

servant  attired  him,  each  morning,  in  the  full  uniform  of 
his  military  rank  as  scrupulously  and  carefully  as 
though  the  Herr  Oberst  meant  to  go  straightway  to  the 
Exercir-Platz.  To  be  sure,  Elard,  a  younger  son,  had 
been  sent  home  from  the  Cadet  School  at  Hesse-Cassel, 
but  this  was  more  as  a  mark  of  attention  to  his  father 
than  that  he  was  really  thought  to  be  seriously  ill. 

My  mother,  as  I  say,  sat  with  her  father  through  the 
day,  and  after  he  had  retired  for  the  night  his  arm  chair 
was  moved  up  to  his  bedside,  and  mother  sat  in  it  and 
read  or  dozed  till  midnight.  Shortly  after  twelve  his 
faithful  valet  and  the  old  house  mam'selle  came  and 
shared  the  watch  between  them  till  morning.  In  the 
servants'  room,  in  the  souterrain,  an  orderly  was  con 
stantly  in  attendance. 

The  fortress,  whatever  its  strength  may  have  been, 
was  of  great  age  and  renown,  and  the  residence  assigned 
to  my  grandfather  had  in  olden  times  been  a  monastery, 
the  church  lying  only  a  little  distance  from  it — just  across 
the  graveyard,  in  fact,  upon  which  opened  the  windows 
of  grandfather's  sitting  room.  Though  an  austere  man 
and  a  strict  disciplinarian,  he  was  greatly  beloved  by  his 
brother  officers,  and  the  next  in  command,  together  with 
the  Adjutant,  relieved  him  of  all  regimental  duties. 
Mother  said  that  the  doctor  was  always  the  most  jovial 
of  the  comrades  who  tried  to  while  away  the  tedious 
hours  for  her  father,  though  he  must  have  known  that  his 
Colonel  would  never  leave  these  walls  except  with  the 
black  pall  over  him. 

The  winter  was  an  unusually  severe  one,  and  heavy 
snow  had  fallen  long  before  Christmas,  covering  the 
earth  with  a  cold  white  sheet.  One  night,  after  her 


286        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

father  had  retired  to  his  bed,  and  mother  was  sitting  in 
the  big  arm  chair  by  him,  she  saw  with  alarm  the  hectic 
flush  on  his  cheeks — deeper  and  more  sharply  defined 
than  ever  before.  But  he  seemed  so  much  more  cheerful 
that  they  made  the  most  minute  plans  for  their  proposed 
journey  in  the  spring.  His  breath  came  so  easily  tonight, 
he  said;  he  felt  he  was  getting  better — he  was  almost 
well.  The  doctor  had  told  him,  only  three  days  ago,  that 
he  would  soon  improve  now,  and  here  he  was,  ready  to 
travel,  if  only  the  snow  would  melt. 

Then  his  thoughts  traveled  back  to  the  past,  and  he 
grew  quite  humorous.  Did  his  daughter  remember  when 
a  little  mouse  of  three  she  had  escaped  the  vigilance  of 
the  nurse  and  had  climbed  up  into  the  hall  window  of 
the  old  house  at  Braunschweig  to  watch  for  her  father's 
coming?  That  was  during  the  time  that  Napoleon  owned 
the  earth,  and  the  Colonel  had  been  Platz-Commandant 
there  under  Jerome's  rule,  and  he  had  returned  from 
parade  one  day,  and  had  found  his  little  daughter  with 
her  feet  dangling  out  of  the  second-story  window  shout 
ing  to  her  papa  in  high  glee.  And  could  she  remember 
how  papa  had  said: 

"Sit  quite  still,  mousey,  I  am  coming  up  there,  and 
we'll  have  a  little  game  together" ;  and  did  she  remember 
what  the  little  game  was,  in  which  her  mamma's  slipper 
played  a  part? 

They  laughed  so  heartily  at  the  recollection,  mother 
said,  that  her  father  got  to  coughing,  and  when  he  leaned 
back  in  his  pillows  exhausted,  they  were  startled  by  the 
firing  of  a  number  of  shots,  right  under  the  window,  it 
seemed  to  both.  Shots — fired  within  the  precincts  of  the 
fortifications — in  time  of  peace — near  midnight — what 


ON  THE  STROKE  OF  XII  287 

did  it  mean?  Mother  sprang  to  the  window,  drew  back 
the  curtain  and  looked  out.  Only  the  broad  expanse  of 
snow  on  the  graveyard  was  to  be  seen  in  the  bright 
moonlight ;  only  the  shadow  of  a  cross  here  and  there,  or 
the  branches  of  a  foliage-stripped  tree  breaking  the  even 
surface.  But  no  living  thing  could  be  seen,  no  smoke  of 
powder,  or  gun  barrel  gleaming  in  the  moon's  rays,  which 
penetrated  even  the  dark  nooks  and  niches  in  the  wall  of 
the  old  monastery  church. 

"Ring  for  the  orderly,"  said  her  father,  which  she  did, 
and  she  took  the  little  handbell,  too,  and  stepped  into 
the  corridor  to  awaken  her  brother  in  the  next  room — 
a  tap  on  the  wall  in  this  building  would  hardly  have  suf 
ficed  to  awaken  any  sleeper. 

The  orderly  came,  touched  his  cap,  and  stood  stiff  and 
upright  before  his  commander,  but  his  features  showed 
no  sign  of  excitement  or  alarm. 

"Brockmann,"  said  the  Colonel,  "what  firing  was  that 
— a  perfect  volley,  it  seems  to  me?" 

"Firing!  Volley!"  Brockmann's  mouth  stood  open. 
How  could  he  dare  to  intimate  that  the  Herr  Oberst  was 
mistaken? 

"Did  you  hear  it,  Brockmann?" 

"Zu  Befehl— nein,  Herr  Oberst." 

By  this  time  Elard  had  come,  in  dressing  gown  and 
slippers,  yawning  and  rubbing  his  eyes.  He  asked : 

"Shots?    A  volley?    No." 

Brockmann  was  ordered  to  reconnoiter,  while  Elard 
watched  from  the  window  searching  the  graveyard.  But 
he  reported  that  he  found  the  snow  undisturbed  on  every 
side  of  the  house,  and  neither  footprints  nor  bullet  marks 


288        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

anywhere.  So  further  investigation  was  postponed  till 
morning.  Brockmann  went  back  to  the  servants'  hall, 
Elard  to  his  bed.  But  the  conversation  between  mother 
and  her  father  was  not  resumed;  he  lay  back  in  his  pil 
lows,  the  flush  still  deeper  on  his  cheeks. 

Suddenly  another  volley  of  shots  startled  them  both. 
Her  father  raised  up  his  head. 

"Ring  the  bell,"  he  commanded,  sharply,  "and  look  out 
of  the  window — quick !" 

The  same  silence  and  immutability  lay  upon  the  grave 
yard,  and  when  Brockmann  made  his  appearance  there 
was  a  look  of  terror  in  his  eyes. 

"Brockmann,  I  advise  you  to  look  carefully  after  the 
trespassers  this  time,"  said  his  commander,  "tomorrow 
must  clear  up  the  mystery  of  this  shooting." 

The  orderly  well  understood  the  implied  threat,  and 
when  he  returned  he  was  deathly  pale. 

"Have  you  discovered  anything?"  he  was  asked  stern 
ly,  and  his  answer  was: 

"Zu  Befehl — nein,  Herr  Oberst" — touching  his  cap. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  did  not  hear  the  shoot 
ing  which  the  gnadige  Fraulein  and  I  both  heard?" 

And  again  his  hand  went  up  to  his  cap  as  he  answered : 

"Zu  Befehl— I  did  not,  Herr  Oberst." 

He  was  told  to  retire,  but  be  on  the  alert  and  answer 
the  bell  at  once  if  summoned,  and  father  and  daughter 
again  took  up  their  watch.  For  it  was  a  watch  now,  and 
they  did  not  have  long  to  wait  till  a  third  volley  rang 
out,  and  before  the  sound  had  died  away,  the  booming  of 
the  big  bell  on  the  church  tower,  as  it  began  to  toll  mid- 


ON  THE  STROKE  OF  XII  289 

night,  seemed  to  make  the  still  air  on  the  graveyard  vi 
brate  and  tremble.  But  no  living  thing  could  mother's 
eye  discover  in  the  one  moment  that  she  peered  out ;  the 
next  moment  she  was  recalled  to  her  father's  bedside  by 
a  low  moan,  and  when  she  sprang  to  his  aid  she  felt  that 
she  was  too  late.  His  face  was  ghastly,  blood  was  oozing 
out  from  between  his  colorless  lips,  and  there  were  stains 
of  blood  on  the  counterpane  and  pillow.  Throwing  up 
his  arms  wildly  above  his  head,  he  sank  back,  while 
mother  flew  to  the  door,  dropping  the  little  handbell  she 
meant  to  ring,  till  she  could  hear  it  roll,  tinkle  tinkle, 
from  one  stone  step  of  the  staircase  to  the  next,  and  then 
she  beat  frantically  with  both  hands  on  her  brother's 
bedroom  door,  while  the  long,  ghostly  galleries  of  the  old 
monastery  echoed  with  her  cries  for  help.  But  there  is 
no  help  for  the  dead. 

For  eight  days  the  body  of  her  father  lay  in  state  at  the 
Commandantur.  His  older  son,  Reinier  (he  was  the  Min 
ister  of  War  in  this  little  land  of  Hesse  in  after  years), 
came,  too,  from  the  Cadet  School,  and  brothers-in-arms 
came  from  near  and  far  to  pay  the  last  sad  honors  to  their 
dead  comrade.  At  last  the  day  of  the  funeral  dawned. 
The  ladies  of  the  garrison  were  assembled  at  the  house 
of  mourning,  and  they  gathered  closely  around  the 
daughter  of  the  dead  chief  when  the  heart-breaking 
cadences  of  the  funeral  march  came  borne  on  the  clear, 
frosty  air,  and  the  cortege  approached  with  all  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  military  burial. 

Flags  furled  and  wrapped  with  crape;  long  lines  of 
soldiers  marching  in  measured  tread  with  arms  reversed, 
and  officers  with  badge  of  deepest  mourning  on  their 
dress;  the  funeral  car  drawn  by  four  black  horses,  and 


290         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

close  upon  it  the  dead  commander's  favorite  charger, 
hung  with  sable  trappings,  and  the  saddle  empty;  then 
more  soldiers — an  endless  column,  and  the  muffled  beat 
of  crape-wound  drums,  when  the  notes  of  the  mourning 
march  were  hushed. 

Through  blinding  tears  she  scanned  the  God's-acre 
now,  in  broad  daylight,  from  the  window,  and,  sur 
rounded  by  loving,  sympathizing  friends,  mother  said 
she  had  almost  forgotten  the  strange  occurrence  of  a 
week  ago.  Among  the  officers  who  had  come  from  other 
garrisons,  was  a  cousin  of  her  father's,  whom  she  had 
always  called  uncle,  a  kind-hearted  old  gentleman,  whom 
she  knew  to  be  her  guardian.  Before  the  coffin  had  been 
removed  from  the  hearse  to  the  grave,  he  had  come  in 
to  join  the  ladies,  and  he  stepped  to  the  window,  with 
his  arm  around  his  ward,  while  they  lowered  the  remains 
of  her  father  into  the  ground.  Through  the  closed  sash 
she  could  not  hear  what  was  spoken  outside,  but  in  the 
midst  of  her  sobs  the  rattle  of  musketry  fell  upon  her  ear 
— the  volley  fired  over  her  father's  grave.  Another  vol 
ley  came,  and  still  another,  and  she  knew  then  that  she 
had  heard  a  week  ago,  the  salute  fired  over  her  dead 
father's  grave,  while  he  was  still  with  her,  and  which  he, 
too,  had  heard,  not  heeding  that  it  came  as  a  warning 
from  an  unknown  Beyond. 


WHERE  THEY  FOUND  HER 

Westphalia,  like  Scotland,  boasts  of  men  who  possess 
the  gift  of  second  sight ;  though  Levin  Schucking,  in  his 
book,  Das  Romantische  Westphalen,  says  that  these 
men  are  dying  out,  and  the  power  to  foresee  is  growing 
very  rare  in  old  Westphalia. 

It  is  not  a  source  of  pleasure  to  the  men  themselves, 
this  strange  gift  to  foretell  the  death  and  burial  of  their 
fellowmen,  and  they  would  willingly  dispense  with  it  if 
they  might.  In  my  earliest  youth  I  saw  one  of  these 
Spokenkeiker  or  Geisterscher,  and  I  remember  him  very 
well.  A  tall,  ungainly  man,  was  old  Nolte ;  with  grayish 
hair,  a  kind  expression  on  his  face,  with  light  blue,  melan 
choly  eyes,  that  stood  out  of  his  head  with  terror,  people 
said,  when  he  had  one  of  his  visions,  called  Vorgesicht. 

He  was  a  baker  by  trade,  and  his  apprentices  said  that 
they  had  seen  him,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  leave  the 
kneading  trough  without  a  moment's  warning,  and  with 
glazed  eyes  walk  through  the  house  to  the  street,  and 
there  with  straining  eyes  peer  through  the  darkness, 
moaning  and  wringing  his  hands  as  if  in  deepest  grief. 
Presently  he  would  begin  to  count:  "One,  two,  three," 
— sometimes  up  to  ten,  and  more. 

It  was  then  that  he  counted  the  number  of  mourners 
who  followed  the  dead;  and  he  knew  who  they  were, 
too;  but  he  never  could  be  made  to  tell.  He  would  tell 
the  sexton,  who  was  also  grave  digger,  to  prepare  a  grave, 
either  for  a  child  or  a  grown  person,  as  the  case  might 
be ;  he  would  tell  the  color  of  the  horses  that  drew  the 


292         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

wagon  with  the  coffin ;  but  if  he  knew,  he  never  told  who 
was  inside  the  dread  casket. 

I  must  explain  that  Petershagen,  only  a  small  village 
itself,  contained  the  parish  church  and  graveyard;  and 
the  country  people  of  the  other  villages,  Eldagsen,  Doten- 
hausen  and  Maaslingen,  had  to  bring  their  dead  here  to 
bury  them.  As  there  were  no  hearses  in  the  rural  dis 
tricts,  the  coffin  was  loaded  on  to  an  open  wagon,  and  the 
mourners  walked  behind  it  on  foot;  and  as  there  were 
not  many  streets  in  Petershagen,  the  road  to  the  church 
and  graveyard  ran  directly  past  old  Nolte's  house. 

The  ancient  castle  at  Petershagen,  on  the  Weser,  part 
ly  renovated  in  the  beginning  of  this  century,  had  been 
assigned  as  residence  to  my  father,  after  he  had  quitted 
the  army  at  the  close  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  He  had 
entered  civil  service  in  Prussia,  and  as  surveyor  and  civil 
engineer,  was  engaged  in  retransferring  into  German 
measurement  the  land  which  during  Napoleon's  occu 
pancy  had  been  divided  and  cut  up  as  best  suited  the 
French.  It  was  a  labor  of  many  years,  and  father  had  a 
large  staff  of  field  help  and  office  clerks,  skilled  geome 
tricians  and  chainbearers ;  and  a  part  of  the  old  building 
was  used  for  offices  and  bureaux,  by  them. 

It  was  in  the  nature  of  my  father's  occupation  that  he 
should  be  guest  today  at  castle  or  manor  house  of  the 
proudest  baron  in  the  land,  while  the  next  day  would  find 
him  at  the  Hof  or  some  Bauer,  no  less  proud  of  his  estate 
and  descent  than  the  nobleman  on  his  Edelsitz.  For 
these  men,  though  we  call  them  peasants,  slightingly, 
and  who  wear  the  dress  of  the  peasant. — of  finest  cloth, 
with  buttons  of  silver,  to  be  sure, — are  as  proud  and 
prouder  than  titled  nobility;  and  their  estates,  or  Bauer- 


WHERE  THEY  FOUND  HER  293 

hofe,  are  often  in  better  condition  and  of  greater  money 
value  than  those  of  their  more  aristocratic  neighbors. 

For  myself,  I  have  very  pleasant  recollections  of  the 
Bauerhof  at  Eldagsen,  where  I  spent  one  whole  happy 
day  in  my  earliest  childhood.  It  happened  one  morning 
that  father,  rumbling  along  in  our  old  caleche,  overtook 
Yette,  the  nurse  maid,  with  his  two  youngest  in  charge, 
and  I,  the  oldest  of  the  two,  set  up  a  howl  to  be  taken 
along  to  Eldagsen.  Of  course  the  Bauer  and  his  sister 
paid  me  every  possible  attention,  and  I  was  fed  and 
petted  all  day  long.  The  sister  had  a  face  like  an  apple- 
blossom,  pink  and  white,  and  her  name  was  Louise — 
which  is  abbreviated  to  Wieschen,  in  Low-German  dia 
lect,  and  pronounced  Veeshen, — and  the  last  thing  I  could 
remember  that  night  was  that  as  Veeshen  laid  me,  fast 
asleep,  into  the  old  caleche,  her  long,  flaxen  braids  swept 
my  face  as  she  stooped  over  me. 

Perhaps  the  only  living  soul  in  the  whole  country  who 
had  no  faith  in  old  Nolte  and  his  weird  power,  was  a 
young  man  on  father's  staff,  a  skilled  geometrician,  who 
laughed  at  everything  he  did  not  understand.  He  was 
with  father  almost  constantly,  though  he  did  not  belong 
to  Westphalia.  He  came  from  the  Rhein,  and  held  lighter 
views  of  life  than  the  dull,  though  honest  people  on  the 
Weser.  He  gave  more  particular  offence  to  the  sexton, 
who  swore  that  in  every  instance  the  old  baker  had  been 
correct  in  his  prophecy. 

In  the  castle  grounds,  below  the  terrace,  there  was  an 
avenue  defendu — at  least  in  summer  time,  when  the  ber 
ries  were  ripe.  It  was  a  long  walk,  bordered  by  hedges 
of  gooseberries,  currants  and  raspberries,  and  the  female 
servants  of  the  family  knew  well  enough  that  while  they 


294        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

kept  my  mouth  and  that  of  my  little  sister  filled  with 
berries,  my  mother  would  never  discover  that  it  was 
here  they  came  for  their  gossiping.  They  met  here  one 
afternoon,  Wilmina,  Marie  and  Yette;  and  the  subject 
they  were  discussing  must  have  been  of  absorbing  inter 
est,  for  they  forgot  that  little  pitchers  have  long  ears. 

Busy  as  I  was  with  the  Danish  gooseberries,  I  heard 
the  name  of  my  dear  friend,  Wieschen,  mentioned ;  but  it 
puzzled  me  what  they  meant  when  they  added,  "She  had 
written  that  if  he  did  not  keep  his  promise,  they  would 
have  tp  hunt  for  her  some  day  where  the  water  was 
deepest." 

I  wondered  what  Wieschen  could  have  been  promised. 
She  had  shown  me  her  new  cap  with  gold  lace  on  it;  her 
amber  beads,  and  her  garnet  cross.  What  more  could 
she  want?  At  the  Wulbrand's  Hof  nobody  ever  lacked 
for  anything,  I  had  heard;  so  what  did  Wieschen  mean 
by  hiding  herself  in  order  to  get  what  she  wanted?  And 
in  the  water,  too.  Before  I  could  ask  my  questions  old 
Roemer,  the  gardener  with  the  wooden  leg,  made  his 
appearance  at  the  end  of  the  walk,  and  the  girls  ran,  drag 
ging  us  with  them. 

The  berry  season  was  over,  summer  had  passed,  and 
autumn  had  come  into  the  land;  and  then,  one  day,  the 
rumor  went  that  old  Nolte  had  had  a  Vorgesieht.  When 
it  reached  the  ears  of  Mohrhaus,  the  geometer,  his  black 
eyes  danced  with  mischief,  and  he  called  on  the  sexton. 

"I  have  had  warning  to  prepare  a  grave — for  a  grown 
person,"  the  sexton  said  solemnly. 

"From  the  Herr  Pastor,  or  your  crazy  Spokenkieker?" 
asked  Mohrhaus. 

"From  Nolte.    Come  with  me,  so  that  you  may  be  con- 


WHERE  THEY  FOUND  HER  295 

vinced  at  last.    He  does  not  like  to  speak  these  things  to 
strangers ;  but  he  will  speak  if  I  ask  him  to  tell  you." 

If  Nolte's  eyes  had  encountered  the  sight  of  a  ghost 
instead  of  the  gay  face  of  the  young  geometrician,  he 
could  not  have  started  back  in  greater  horror.  But  Mohr- 
haus  only  sneered. 

"I  want  to  hear  about  your  funeral  procession,"  he 
laughed.  "When  will  it  arrive?" 

"In  three  days  from  now,"  was  the  positive  reply.  "But 
there  will  be  no  procession,"  the  old  man  added  sadly, 
"not  a  single  mourner  will  follow  the  coffin." 

"Oh-oh!"  laughed  the  young  man  again,  "that  means, 
I  suppose,  that  unless  you  really  find  some  one  to  bury 
within  that  time,  you  will  simply  put  a  straw  man  into 
the  coffin." 

"Tell  him  what  the  horses  are  like  that  will  bring  the 
coffin  on  the  wagon,"  the  sexton  suggested  to  the  old 
baker. 

"Yes,  tell  me  what  kind  of  horses  will  bring  your  dead 
man,"  added  the  youth;  "what  are  they  like?" 

"Ein  Falber  und  ein  Rappe,"  (a  dun  horse  and  black 
one),  was  the  impressive  answer. 

But  Mohrhaus  laughed  the  louder. 

"Ein  Falber  und  ein  Rappe !"  he  repeated.  "Upon  my 
word  now — that  is  the  team  the  old  German  kings  drove 
in  their  chariots.  Your  dead  man  comes  in  majesty!" 

The  Geisterseher's  patience  was  exhausted. 

"Death  always  comes  in  majesty!"  he  cried  in  a  ringing 
voice.  "And  you,  too,  shall  tremble  before  it  ere  three 
suns  have  set!" 


296        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

As  Mohrhaus  was  to  go  on  a  surveying  trip  next  day, 
he  made  sure  first,  through  the  agency  of  the  parish 
clerk,  that  there  was  no  one  sick,  or  in  immediate  danger 
of  dying  of  old  age,  in  the  parish ;  and  he  received  from 
him  the  promise,  that  if  word  should  be  sent  to  dig  a 
grave,  he  would  go  himself  and  see  that  no  such  horses 
as  the  Spokenkieker  had  described  should  draw  the 
wagon. 

On  his  return  to  Petershagen,  the  third  day,  he  was 
met  with  the  informtaion  that  a  funeral  had  been  an 
nounced  to  arrive  from  Eldagsen  that  day,  but  had  not 
yet  come,  though  it  was  then  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"Going  to  keep  up  old  Nolte's  reputation  at  all  risks," 
Mohrhaus  said,  and  he  started  for  the  tavern,  where  he 
expected  to  find  the  sexton. 

The  sun  was  fast  approaching  the  west,  and  a  rough 
wind  blew  through  the  deserted  streets;  it  seemed  to 
Mohrhaus  that  he  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  cob 
blestones,  as  he  came  along,  but  he  paid  no  attention 
to  it. 

The  tavern  keeper  informed  him  that  the  sexton  had 
just  been  summoned  away,  as  the  long-delayed  funeral 
had  come  at  last. 

Mohrhaus'  eyes  twinkled,  as  he  said:  "Then  I  must 
go  to  the  graveyard  at  once,  before  they  put  the  straw 
man  under  ground." 

The  sun  was  about  to  go  down  when  he  reached 
the  gate  of  the  cemetery;  he  met  the  parish  clerk,  who 
told  him  that  the  funeral  had  come — a  lonely-looking  cof 
fin  on  an  open  wagon  drawn  by  two  horses — a  dun  horse 
and  a  black  one.  The  wagon  that  left  Eldagsen  had  been 
drawn  by  a  span  of  white  horses;  but  they  had  become 


WHERE  THEY  FOUND  HER  297 

unmanageable,  had  torn  the  harness,  broken  the  wagon, 
and  thrown  the  coffin  to  the  ground.  The  man  who 
drove  the  wagon,  and  the  man  who  followed,  as  solitary 
mourner,  had  both  been  hurt;  one  of  the  white  horses 
had  to  be  shot,  the  other  had  run  away,  and  the  old  team 
now  in  the  wagon,  had  been  picked  up  among  the  people 
on  the  road. 

"A  likely  story/'  said  Mohrhaus,  and  he  pressed  on  to 
where  he  saw  a  number  of  men  gathered  around  an  open 
grave,  his  friend,  the  sexton,  among  them. 

They  had  evidently  removed  the  lid  from  the  coffin, 
or  perhaps  it  had  been  broken  by  the  fall.  They  all 
seemed  perturbed  as  the  young  man  approached,  and  the 
sexton  seemed  anxious  to  put  the  lid  back. 

"Are  you  trying  to  hide  your  straw  man  from  me,  sex 
ton?"  he  asked  with  his  ready  sneer;  and  the  sexton  lifted 
the  lid  away,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  so  that  Mohrhaus 
might  see. 

The  last  departing  rays  of  the  sun  lay  on  the  coffin; 
and  as  Mohrhaus  stooped  down,  there  was  a  glint  as  of 
gold,  where  the  light  fell  on  heavy  flax-blond  braids.  For 
it  was  Wieschen  he  saw  in  the  coffin,  and  they  had  found 
her  where  the  water  was  deepest,  in  the  little  lake  on  the 
Wulbrand's  Hof. 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME 

Every  self-respecting  old  castle  in  the  Fatherland  has 
its  own  ghost.  In  one  it  is  the  semblance  of  an  infant, 
lying  at  midnight,  feebly  wailing,  on  the  broad  flagstone 
at  the  foot  of  the  winding  stairs  in  the  tower,  or  on  the 
cold  slab  in  front  of  the  great  entrance  door  to  the 
gloomy  hall.  In  another  it  is  the  shriveled-up  figure  of 
a  little  old  man  who  comes  and  shakes  his  head,  porten- 
tiously  whenever  he  finds  conviviality  and  good  cheer 
where  he  intends  to  herald  death  or  disaster;  and  again 
it  is  the  shadowy  form  of  a  female,  trailing  long  dusky 
robes  behind  her  and  wringing  her  hands  as  if  in  grief 
or  despair. 

Other  castles  boast  of  skeletons  dragging  clanking 
chains  after  them;  but  the  really  nice  people  disavow 
ghosts  of  this  kind,  as  too  coarse  and  noisy.  In  the  cas 
tle  of  Petershagen  it  was  the  White  Lady,  so-called  be 
cause  she  wandered  around  in  her  grave-clothes,  the 
white  linen  shroud  still  bound  around  her  head,  and  her 
hands  crossed  on  her  bosom,  as  they  had  been  in  the 
coffin. 

Every  nurse  maid  in  the  country  knew  the  story  of 
the  White  Lady,  and  our  Yette,  being  at  the  fountain- 
head,  as  it  were,  was  supposed  to  know  more  particu 
lars  than  any  of  the  others.  That  it  was  told  to  the  young 
ones  in  their  charge  as  soon  as  they  were  supposed  to  be 
old  enough  to  get  a  good  "creep"  to  their  skin,  and  a 
good  raise  to  their  hair,  goes  without  saying;  though 
every  individual  nurse  was  naturally  warned  not  to 
frighten  the  children  with  ghost  stories. 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME          299 

The  story  as  Yette  told  it,  and,  as  it  obtains  to  this 
day,  for  aught  I  know,  was  that  a  few  centuries  before  we 
came  into  the  world,  the  lord  who  then  held  sway  at  the 
Burg,  discovered  one  day  that  his  lawful  wedded  wife 
was  becoming  wrinkled  in  the  face,  and  that  her  lady 
companion  was  much  more  youthful  and  pleasing  in 
looks.  The  foundation  of  the  old  castle  laid  close  to  the 
banks  of  the  Weser,  so  that  its  walls  are  washed  by  the 
river,  and  in  spring  time,  when  the  waters  grow  turbu 
lent  in  the  narrow  bed,  the  waves  sometimes  dash  against 
the  mighty  pile  as  if  trying  to  sweep  it  from  the  face  of 
the  earth. 

The  walls  are  eleven  feet  in  thickness  on  this  side,  so 
that  the  window  sills  are  used  for  cozy  chatting  corners, 
and  the  castle-lord,  opening  the  casement  wide,  one  day, 
for  his  lawful  lady  to  get  a  look  at  the  mad  waters  below, 
grew  fearful  lest  she  might  become  dizzy  so  near  to  the 
edge  of  the  sill,  stretched  out  his  hand  suddenly  and — 
set  up  a  frantic  yell  that  his  dearly  beloved  wife  had  fallen 
into  the  water.  But  the  members  of  the  household  loved 
this  good  lady,  and  some  of  the  warriors  bold  rushed 
out  with  staves  and  poles,  and  in  their  little  skiffs  bat 
tled  with  the  wild  waves  till  they  found  the  dead  lady 
with  her  clothes  caught  in  some  brush  along  the  river's 
bank. 

And  then  came  retribution  to  the  wicked  knight.  It 
availed  him  not  that  he  married  his  old  wife's  young 
companion,  and  there  were  scenes  of  revelry  in  the  great 
banquet  hall  of  the  castle  night  after  night;  the  ghost 
of  his  first  wife,  dressed  simply,  but  I  fear  not  becom 
ingly,  in  her  grave-clothes,  and  with  her  hands  folded 
meekly  across  her  breast,  was  always  there,  interrupt- 


300        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKlN 

ing  tete-a-tetes  between  her  false  lord  and  her  successor, 
or  gliding  out  among  the  guests  assembled  for  carousal. 
Flesh  and  blood  could  not  survive  the  encroachments  of 
such  flesh-and-bloodless,  unbidden  guest  for  any  length 
of  time,  but  when  the  wicked  lord  and  his  new  wife  were 
both  dead,  this  reprehensible  habit  of  rambling  through 
halls  and  corridors  had  so  grown  upon  the  White  Lady 
that  she  continued  to  walk,  thereby  frightening  silly 
nurse  maids  and  nervous  children  out  of  their  seven 
senses. 

I  am  very  sure  Yette  had  been  warned  by  my  mother 
most  emphatically  not  to  frighten  us  two  little  ones  with 
ghosts  in  general,  and  the  White  Lady  in  particular; 
and  I  had  become  hysterical  and  frenzied  with  fear  be 
fore  she  would  consent  to  lead  me,  sobbing  as  if  my  heart 
would  break,  to  the  door  of  mother's  bedroom  one  night, 
shortly  after  12  o'clock.  In  answer  to  Yette's  knock 
came  mother's  inquiry  what  was  wanted,  but  Yette  had 
scarcely  begun  to  explain  that  the  child  was  unmanage 
able  "because  the  White  Lady  had  told  her,"  when  the 
door  opened  and  mother  said  severely: 

"Yette,  I  have  told  you  for  the  last  time  now,  never  to 
talk  such  silly  trash  to  the  children." 

"Gnadige  Frau  may  believe  me,  I  never  did,"  pro 
tested  Yette  with  all  the  vehemence  of  a  bad  conscience. 

"Let  the  poor  devil  come  in,"  father's  sleepy  voice 
came  from  the  depths  of  the  great  "Himmelbett,"  and 
then,  trembling  with  cold  and  excitement,  I  slipped  by 
mother  and  clambered  up  into  the  big,  broad  Turkish 
divan  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  Nothing  remained  to 
do  for  mother  but  make  a  bed  for  me  with  pillow  and 
coverlet;  and  moving  a  screen  up  to  shield  me  from  the 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME          301 

light  that  always  burned  in  her  room,  she  left  me  to  my 
own  reflections. 

To  my  dying  day  I  shall  remember  the  feeling  of 
safety  and  comfort  I  enjoyed;  the  room  was  large  and 
high,  the  walls  covered  with  hangings  of  some  dark  red 
shade,  with  golden  markings  running  through  the  flower- 
pattern  ;  the  canopy  over  the  bed  was  of  the  same  dark 
color,  which  was  repeated  once  more  in  the  window 
curtains.  The  door  through  which  I  had  come  in  was 
invisible,  as  the  heavy  wall  hangings  covered  it  too;  the 
door  opening  into  the  corridor,  however,  was  large  and 
of  dark  wood,  as  were  the  frames  of  the  windows,  which 
gave  out  on  the  upper  terrace. 

The  walls  on  this  side  were  not  over  five  feet  through, 
and  on  the  outside  were  covered  with  ivy;  and  this  ivy 
had  spread  its  mantle  over  the  stone  saint  that  stood  in 
a  niche  near  the  broad  steps  leading  up  from  the  lower 
terrace. 

It  was  very  pleasant  in  my  corner  here,  with  light 
enough  to  distinguish  every  object  not  shut  out  by  the 
screen,  and  my  tears  had  long  since  dried.  But  my  little 
heart  was  heavy  within  my  breast.  Grown-up  people 
sometimes  do  not  understand  children ;  and  children  have 
no  way  of  making  their  elders  understand  their  fears  and 
apprehensions.  For  weeks  there  had  been  a  certain 
something  in  the  air,  of  which  I  stood  in  vague  fear. 
Half-words  mysteriously  uttered,  a  conversation  broken 
off  at  my  approach,  a  sigh  from  mother,  sometimes  a  tear 
wiped  hastily  from  her  eyes — all  these  things  I  saw  and 
"took  into  me,"  but  I  could  shape  no  questioning  why 
or  wherefore. 

Father,  it  seems,  did  not  go  to  sleep  again  this  night, 


302         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

for  I  heard  him  talking  to  mother.  Only  fragments  of 
the  talk  reached  me.  "A  climate  like  that  of  Italy,"  I 
heard  him  say  once ;  "A  domain  half  as  big  as  the  whole 
Kingdom  of  Prussia,"  again ;  "An  assured  future  for  the 
boys."  Then  there  was  something  said  about  tyranny  and 
injustice,  and  merit  not  appreciated.  And  then,  I  sup 
pose,  I  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

Never  was  there  greater  surprise  "in  our  circles"  than 
at  the  announcement,  sometime  after  this,  that  we  were 
on  the  eve  of  departure  for  America. 

Boys,  I  presume,  are  the  same  all  the  world  over,  and 
the  three  belonging  to  us  felt  their  importance  now  as 
never  before.  For  my  smaller  sister  and  myself  there 
was  much  extra  petting  and  caressing  before  we  were 
finally  deposited  on  board  the  big  three-master  "Leon- 
tine."  I  think  the  ocean  must  have  swelled  with  the 
tears  that  were  shed  by  us  and  over  us  at  our  departure ; 
but  father  and  the  rascally  boys  never  once  cried. 

It  was  in  the  very  beginning  of  the  tide  of  emigration 
from  Germany,  and  a  family  like  ours  attracted  some  at 
tention  at  New  Orleans,  which  may  have  been  owing, 
come  to  think  of  it,  to  the  fact  that  my  sister  and  I  could 
swallow  bigger  oysters,  and  more  of  them,  than  any  man 
of  twice  our  size. 

The  steamer  Hannibal  carried  not  only  us,  but  a  num 
ber  of  other  German  emigrants,  up  the  Mississippi  river. 
(My  mother  called  the  others  "Auswanderer,"  as  if  we 
had  not  been  emigrants,  too.)  We  were  in  the  cabin,  the 
other  auswanderers  were  on  the  deck.  Father,  speaking 
English  fluently,  and  being  naturally  looked  up  to  by  the 
crowd,  was  always  in  demand  to  straighten  out  some 
misunderstanding  or  unravel  some  tangled  skein  of  lin- 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME          303 

guistic  difficulty.  Mother,  who  would  carefully  have 
wiped  her  fingers  had  she  ever  by  any  accident  touched 
one  of  the  blue  linen  "kittels"  which  the  men  wore, 
rather  resented  this  sending  of  messages  for  father  at  all 
hours;  but  father  only  said,  in  his  good-natured  way, 
"Oh,  let  me  help  the  poor  devils." 

One  day  there  was  a  great  commotion,  and  such  a 
babel  of  confusion  as  can  be  produced  by  only  the  Ger 
man  speech  when  conducted  by  fifty  individuals  at  once, 
each  trying  to  out-talk  the  others.  We  were  all  out  on 
the  gallery  in  less  than  no  time,  and  soon  saw  father  in 
the  midst  of  his  countrymen.  Close  beside  us  another 
steamer,  not  so  grand  as  ours,  seemed  to  give  us  escort, 
and  both  were  on  the  point  of  landing.  Then  we  under 
stood  that  Captain  Frazer  proposed  to  transfer  the  emi 
grants  and  some  other  baggage  to  this  smaller  steamer, 
as  he  said  there  was  not  water  enough  in  the  channel, 
just  below  Memphis,  to  make  it  safe  for  a  boat  too  heav 
ily  laden.  Of  course  the  amiable  emigrants  kicked, 
though  the  Captain  promised  to  take  them  on  again  later. 
But  father  had  gotten  his  Dutch  up,  in  defense  of  his 
countrymen,  and  the  Captain  could  not  shift  his  load. 

One  thing  I  remember  quite  distinctly,  the  whole 
rabble  having  caught  just  a  little  English  by  this  time, 
stood  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  thumb  to  nose,  with  fin 
gers  wagging,  and  shouting,  "Plenty  vahter,  plenty  vah- 
ter !"  as  the  smaller  boat  fell  behind  and  we  moved  on. 

That  night,  after  supper,  when  the  cabin  was  warm 
and  brilliant  with  lights,  and  some  lady  at  the  piano  was 
droning  "Suwanee  River,"  Captain  Frazer  made  his  way 
up  to  father  and  courteously  asked  him  to  step  out  on 
the  guards.  Of  course,  everybody  in  the  saloon  fol- 


304        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

lowed,  and  I  remember  how  weird  was  the  change  from 
the  bright  inside  to  the  dreary  without.  But  once  fairly 
outside  I  stood  frozen  with  horror;  I  stared  my  eyes  out 
— for  I  had  seen  it  all  before.  The  broad,  dark,  swirling 
river,  a  fitful  moon-beam  serving  to  make  darkness  visi 
ble,  a  steamboat-wreck,  with  its  smokestacks  and  just 
one  corner  of  its  upper  deck,  its  light-painted  "Texas," 
with  the  pilot  wheel  inside,  lying  almost  within  touch 
of  my  hand,  it  seemed  to  me.  A  little  farther  off,  nearer 
in  to  the  shore,  was  another  wreck,  not  yet  sunk  quite 
so  deep ;  and  the  water  that  sluggishly  washed  over  it, 
every  now  and  again  struck  something  that  in  turn  moved 
the  clapper  of  the  big  bell,  causing  a  mournful,  muffled 
sound,  tolling  a  dirge  for  the  seven  fair  ships  that  had 
here  found  a  grave. 

What  the  Captain  said  I  did  not  then  understand,  but 
I  had  seen  this  once  before,  and  I  was  frantically  tug 
ging  at  mother's  skirt,  stamping  my  feet  in  a  rage  of 
fear,  and  trying  to  hide  my  eyes  in  the  folds  of  her  dress. 

"The  White  Lady  told  me,"  I  screamed,  "the  White 
Lady  told  me,"  and  the  other  ladies,  who  came  sympa 
thetically  forward  and  to  mother's  aid,  could  not  have 
understood  my  fright  even  if  they  had  understood  Ger 
man. 

This  "steamboat's  graveyard,"  as  it  was  called,  was 
what  the  Captain  had  dreaded,  and  he  wanted  father  to 
understand  why  he  had  meant  to  transfer  his  interesting 
proteges  from  his  own  to  another  vessel  for  a  short  space 
of  time. 

Whether  the  recollection  of  this  piece  of  German  ob 
stinacy  had  anything  to  do  with  a  little  adventure  a  day 
or  two  later  I  don't  know,  but  I  rather  think  so.  In  those 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME          305 

dark  ages  of  river  travel,  when  a  steamer  had  once  estab 
lished  its  reputation,  there  was  no  necessity  for  constant 
racing  to  keep  its  fame,  so  we  meandered  upward  to  St. 
Louis  at  quite  a  comfortable  gait.  To  watch  them 
"wood  up"  was  one  of  the  ever-recurring  excitements  of 
the  journey,  and  father  and  the  boys  always  went  on 
shore,  father  naturally  taking  up  with  the  little  picnanin- 
nies  hanging  'round  the  wood-pile.  On  this  occasion 
quite  a  number  of  the  dear  emigrants  had  gone  ashore, 
too;  and  when  the  bell  suddenly  clanged  out  an  abrupt 
warning,  only  William  and  George  could  reach  the  gang 
plank.  Father,  with  the  younger  one,  was  nearly  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  away,  but  I  did  not  know  it.  So  I  laughed 
fit  to  kill  myself  when  I  saw  my  beloved  countrymen 
floundering  around  in  the  sand  on  the  shore,  tumbling 
over  each  other,  yelling  and  wildly  gesticulating  for  the 
boat  to  stop. 

But  she  swung  majestically  into  the  stream,  and  then 
for  the  first  time  I  heard  from  the  big  boys  that  father 
and  Albert  had  been  left  on  shore.  Darkness  *vras  setting 
in,  and  the  boat  went  slowly  but  surely,  though  it  kept 
in  close  to  the  bank.  I  ran  to  call  mother,  and  she,  with 
the  other  ladies,  came  out  of  the  cabin  where  the  lamps 
had  just  been  lighted.  We  were  now  abreast  of  one  of 
those  long,  gloomy  stretches  of  native  forest-growth, 
which  then  lined  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  against  this 
background,  and  lighted  up  by  the  fire  that  the  people 
at  the  wood  yard  had  built,  I  saw  Albert,  a  little  in  ad 
vance  of  father,  whom  he  was  holding  by  the  hand  and 
trying  to  drag  along  faster.  I  thought  I  could  read  the 
terror  in  the  boy's  face  as  he  saw  the  black  night  and 
the  blacker  forest  before  him ;  but  there  was  greater  ter- 


306        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

ror  in  my  face,  and  in  my  heart,  too,  for  I  had  seen  this 
all  before,  and  again  I  stamped  my  feet  in  an  agony  of 
fear,  and  screamed,  as  I  clung  to  mother's  skirts. 

"The  White  Lady  told  me— oh !  the  White  Lady  told 
me." 

Mother's  suspense  was  relieved  at  this  moment  for 
the  boat  was  stopped  and  this  gave  her  more  time  to 
devote  to  me.  Thoroughly  out  of  patience,  and  ashamed 
of  my  screaming  and  stamping,  she  took  me  by  the  shoul 
ders,  made  me  face  her  and  said  emphatically : 

"The  White  Lady  told  you  nothing;  you  never  saw 
the  White  Lady;  there  is  no  White  Lady."  At  the  end 
of  every  sentence  she  gave  me  a  vigorous  little  shake, 
and  then  sent  me  directly  to  bed. 

After  long  years,  when  it  had  become  the  business  of 
this  younger  brother  to  pilot  boats  along  the  entire  length 
of  the  Mississippi  River,  he  still  spoke  of  the  dread  he 
had  felt  of  being  lost  in  the  trackless  forest  that  night. 

In  St.  Louis  we  did  not  find  a  climate  like  that  of 
Italy ;  we  found  many  disappointments,  I  fear,  and  found 
that  we  were  in  no  way  better  here  than  the  Smiths, 
Browns  and  Robinsons.  When  I  grew  older  I  learned 
how  we  came  to  be  here  at  all,  which  was  only  because 
father  had  gone  into  the  net  of  a  "soul-seller" — Seelen- 
verkaufer,  the  Germans  call  them.  These  people  were 
paid  by  ship-agents  and  others  so  much  "per  soul"  for 
every  man,  woman  or  child  whom  they  could  induce  to 
emigrate  to  North  or  South  America,  where  they  gener 
ally  fleeced  their  victims  out  of  the  last  penny  by  selling 
them  large  tracts  of  swamp  lands  or  impenetrable  forests 
and  jungle  for  farm  lands,  acting  in  concert  with  con 
federates  on  this  side  of  the  ocean.  These  people  had 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME  307 

their  spies  everywhere  in  Germany,  and  knew  every 
malcontent  in  the  country.  Father,  it  was  well  known, 
had  resigned  from  the  army  in  a  fit  of  pique  when  a 
cousin  he  disliked  had  been  promoted  over  his  head; 
and  in  Civil  Service  he  had  grown  discontented,  too, 
because  advancement  was  not  rapid  enough ;  which  he 
ascribed  to  the  tyranny  and  injustice  of  the  King. 

I  have  always  held  father  excusable  for  a  certain 
amount  of  pride,  for  he  belonged  to  the  Hanoverian  con 
tingent  of  Wellington's  army,  a  cadet  just  emerged  from 
military  school,  and  he  was  made  a  lieutenant  on  the 
battlefield  of  Waterloo,  for  daring  and  bravery  long 
before  "night  or  Blucher"  had  come. 

The  first  few  months  in  the  country  my  father  de 
voted  entirely  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  liberty — that  is: 
he  wandered  about  the  streets  and  the  suburbs  of  the 
city  with  my  smaller  sister  and  myself  one  by  each 
hand.  To  be  sure,  he  could  have  enjoyed  this  same  lib 
erty  twenty-four  hours  out  of  every  day  under  the  rule 
of  the  "tyrant  king"  in  the  old  country;  but  that  never 
seemed  to  strike  him.  I  fancy  he  had  an  idea  of  found 
ing  a  little  empire  of  his  own,  consisting  principally  of 
forest,  where  horses,  deer,  bears  and  niggers  still  ran 
wild,  and  where  he  could  tame  them  so  far  that  they 
would  come  up  to  be  petted  and  eat  lump  sugar  out  of 
his  hand. 

In  the  meantime  the  little  German  thalers  which  were 
to  buy  the  big  American  farm,  were  melting  like  snow 
before  the  sun.  Father  had  declined  a  professorship  at 
West  Point,  which  had  been  tendered  him  through  the 
kind  offices  of  Colonel  Brant,  on  the  ground  that  he  had 
come  to  America  to  be  a  free  man,  and  he  would  never 


308        JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCRACKIN 

enter  service  of  any  kind  again.  The  thalers  flew  faster, 
and  two  or  three  pieces  of  old-fashioned  silverware, 
showing  the  coat  of  arms  and  crest  of  mother's  family, 
had  already  found  their  way  into  stranger-hands,  while 
the  lines  of  care  and  sorrow  daily  deepened  in  my  moth 
er's  handsome  face. 

Still  father  kept  up  his  aimless  roaming  through  the 
streets  with  us  two  little  ones;  and  so  long  as  we  were 
allowed  all  the  stick  candy  we  could  eat,  we  were  al 
ways  ready  to  go.  One  day  we  were  sauntering  along 
the  southern  end  of  Second  street,  a  most  unattractive 
neighborhood,  for  there  were  mostly  pork-packing  estab 
lishments  there,  and  the  conglomeration  of  houses  in 
which  the  working  people,  many  of  them  Germans,  lived. 
Suddenly  I  gave  such  a  jerk  to  father's  hand  that  he  stood 
stock  still  to  see  what  ailed  me.  My  first  impulse  was 
to  cry  out  in  anguish,  "The  White  Lady  told  me — oh! 
the  White  Lady  told  me!"  But  I  had  learned  wisdom  in 
my  short  generation,  and  I  controlled  myself  and  pointed 
across  the  street,  to  the  east  side,  where  there  stood, 
somewhat  isolated  and  amid  the  most  sordid  surround 
ings,  one  of  those  ugly  two-story  buildings  called  "half- 
houses,"  because  the  roof  slants  only  to  one  side,  and 
the  supposition  is  that  a  front  will  be  added  at  some 
future  day.  This  thing  was  built  of  brick  and  painted 
yellow,  a  perfect  abomination  of  ugliness,  and  I  said  to 
father: 

"Is  not  that  a  very  ugly  house?" 

He  surveyed  it  critically,  to  please  me,  and  said  good- 
naturedly,  "I  think  I  never  saw  an  uglier  one." 

With  a  shudder  I  said,  "I  hate  it,"  but  I  stood  fas 
cinated  for  all  that. 


WHAT  THE  WHITE  LADY  TOLD  ME          309 

I  had  seen  it  before,  and  I  had  climbed  up  those  steps 
on  the  porch,  outside,  to  the  second  story  of  the  building. 
But  in  order  to  explain  how  horrible  was  the  sight  I  met 
with  inside,  I  must  say  something  about  German  customs 
to  those  not  to  the  manner  born.  Every  family  of  the 
better  class  has — or  had,  in  those  times — its  own  pat 
terns  or  designs  which  are  woven  into  their  table  linen. 
The  table  linen  which  mother  brought  into  the  family 
showed  lozenges  in  one  design,  stars  in  the  other.  From 
father's  family  had  come  the  rose-pattern  and  a  leaf- 
design,  both  of  which  were  condemned  as  in  bad  taste 
by  mother.  She  maintained  that  for  ordinary  table  linen 
only  geometrical  patterns  were  admissible ;  only  in  the 
finer  damasks  were  floral  or  other  intricate  designs  the 
proper  thing.  Of  this  fine  damask  there  were  table 
cloths  with  accompanying  napkins  for  a  large  number 
of  covers,  perhaps  twenty-four,  or  forty-eight,  with  hunt 
ing  scenes  woven  in,  or  floral  designs,  repeated,  in  part, 
in  every  one  of  the  napkins.  Of  the  commoner  kind  of 
table-cloths,  with  napkins,  there  were  so  many  that  the 
same  piece  never  saw  service  more  than  once  in  a  twelve 
month,  if  so  often,  and  we  had  brought  many  a  "kiste" 
full  of  linen  to  this  country.  Among  the  table  linen  the 
lozenge-pattern  was  most  in  use. 

I  repeat,  I  had  climbed  those  stairs  with  a  beating 
heart,  had  opened  the  door  into  the  first  room  fronting 
on  the  porch,  and  then  my  heart  stood  still.  On  the  bare 
floor,  in  a  row,  lay  a  number  of  people  who  had  died  of 
cholera,  and  nearest  the  door  lay  my  mother,  dead,  and 
the  body  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  one  of  the 
large  table-cloths  of  the  lozenge  pattern.  Her  hair,  gray 
as  it  was  in  after  years,  alone  protruded  from  this  sin- 


310         JOSEPHINE  CLIFFORD  McCfUCKIN 

gular  shroud;  but  I  knew  it  was  mother,  though  I  did 
not  see  her  face.  The  sun  was  blazing  in  through  an 
uncurtained  window ;  the  room  was  unfurnished  and  un 
occupied  save  for  these  dead ;  in  short,  the  place  and  the 
scene  was  such  as  was  often  found  a  year  or  two  later, 
when  the  epidemic  broke  out  in  St.  Louis,  of  which  no 
one,  save  myself,  had  ever  dreamt  before. 

But  the  spell  was  broken;  the  White  Lady  had  lied 
to  me.  It  was  not  many  years  till  father  rilled  one  of  the 
ever-open  graves  dug  for  idealists  and  dreamers  who 
die  of  disappointment  and  a  broken  heart.  Mother  lived 
to  follow  the  fortunes  of  some  of  her  children  across  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  she  found  in  California  a  climate 
much  more  like  that  of  Italy  than  any  she  had  found 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi. 


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